t&e  game  &ttt&or* 


THE  PROPHET  OF  THE   GREAT 
SMOKY  MOUNTAINS. 

A  NOVEL. 
i6mo,  $1.25. 


DOWN   THE  RAVINE. 

A  STORY  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS. 

Illustrated.    $1.00. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
Publishers, 

BOSTON. 


IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS 


BY 

CHARLES   EGBERT  CRADDOCK 


FOURTEENTH   EDITION 


BOSTON 
HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

New  York  :  11    East  Seventeenth  Street 


1886 


Copyright,  1884, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghtou  &  Co. 


P5 


CONTENTS. 

FAOB 

DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK 1 

A-PLAYIN'  OF  OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMENT  .    .    80 

THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY 120 

ELECTIONEERS'  ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING     .    .    .    .155 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK 182 

THE  DANCIN'  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE    .    .    .     .215 

OVER  ON  THE  T'OTHER  MOUNTING .  247 

THE  "HARNT"  THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEB 283 


IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 


DRIFTING   DOWN   LOST   CREEK. 


HIGH  above  Lost  Creek  Valley  towers  a  wil- 
derness of  pine.  So  dense 'is  this  growth  that  it 
masks  the  mountain  whence  it  springs.  Even 
when  the  Cumberland  spurs,  to  the  east,  are 
gaunt  and  bare  in  the  wintry  wind,  their  de- 
ciduous forests  denuded,  their  crags  unveiled 
and  grimly  beetling,  Pine  Mountain  remains  a 
sombre,  changeless  mystery ;  its  clifty  heights 
are  hidden,  its  chasms  and  abysses  lurk  unseen. 
Whether  the  skies  are  blue,  or  gray,  the  dark, 
austere  line  of  its  summit  limits  the  horizon. 
It  stands  against  the  west  like  a  barrier.  It 
seemed  to  Cynthia  Ware  that  nothing  which 
went  beyond  this  barrier  ever  came  back  again. 
One  by  one  the  days  passed  over  it,  and  in 
splendid  apotheosis,  in  purple  and  crimson  and 
gold,  they  were  received  into  the  heavens,  and 
1 


2  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

returned  no  more.  She  beheld  love  go  hence, 
and  many  a  hope.  Even  Lost  Creek  itself, 
meandering  for  miles  between  the  ranges,  sud- 
denly sinks  into  the  earth,  tunnels  an  unknown 
channel  beneath  the  mountain,  and  is  never  seen 
again.  She  often  watched  the  floating  leaves, 
a  nettle  here  and  there,  the  broken  wing  of  a 
moth,  and  wondered  whither  these  trifles  were 
borne,  on  the  elegiac  current.  She  came  to 
fancy  that  her  life  was  like  them,  worthless  in 
itself  and  without  a  mission  ;  drifting  down 
Lost  Creek,  to  vanish  vaguely  in  the  mountains. 

Yet  her  life  had  not  always  been  thus  desti- 
tute of  pleasure  and  purpose.  There  was  a 
time  —  and  she  remembered  it  well  —  when  she 
found  no  analogies  in  Lost  Creek.  Then  she 
saw  only  a  stream  gayly  dandering  down  the 
valley,  with  the  laurel  and  the  pawpaw  close  in 
to  its  banks,  and  the  kildeer's  nest  in  the  sand. 

Before  it  takes  that  desperate  plunge  into  the 
unexplored  caverns  of  the  mountain,  Lost  Creek 
lends  its  aid  to  divers  jobs  of  very  prosaic  work. 
Further  up  the  valley  it  turns  a  mill-wheel,  and 
on  Mondays  it  is  wont  to  assist  in  the  family 
wash.  A  fire  of  pine-knots,  kindled  beside  it 
on  a  flat  rock,  would  twine  long,  lucent  white 
flames  about  the  huge  kettle  in  which  the 
clothes  were  boiled.  Through  the  steam  the 
distant  landscape  flickered,  ethereal,  dream-like. 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  3 

The  garments,  laid  across  a  bench  and  beaten 
white  with  a  wooden  paddle,  would  flutter  hi- 
lariously in  the  wind.  Deep  in  some  willowy 
tangle  the  water-thrush  might  sing.  Ever  and 
anon  from  the  heights  above  vibrated  the  clink- 
ing of  a  hand-hammer  and  the  clanking  of  a 
sledge.  This  iterative  sound  used  to  pulse  like 
a  lyric  in  Cynthia's  heart.  But  her  mother, 
one  day,  took  up  her  testimony  against  it. 

"  I  do  declar',  it  sets  me  plumb  cata wampus 
ter  hev  ter  listen  ter  them  blacksmiths,  up  yan- 
der  ter  thar  shop,  at  tlmr  everlastin'  chink- 
chank  an'  chink-chank,  considerin'  the  tales  I 
hearn  'bout  'em,  when  I  war  down  ter  the 
quiltin'  at  M'ria's  house  in  the  Cove." 

She  paused  to  prod  the  boiling  clothes  with 
a  long  stick.  She  was  a  tall  woman,  fifty  years 
of  age,  perhaps,  but  seeming  much  older.  So 
gaunt  she  was,  so  toothless,  haggard,  and  di- 
sheveled, that  but  for  her  lazy  step  and  languid 
interest  she  might  have  suggested  one  of  Mac- 
beth's  witches,  as  she  hovered  about  the  great 
cauldron. 

"  They  'lowed  down  yander  ter  M'ria's  house 
ez  this  hyar  Evander  Price  hev  kem  ter  be  the 
headin'est,  no  'count  critter  in  the  kentry  ! 
They  'lowed  ez  he  hev  been  a-foolin'  round 
Pete  Blenkins's  forge,  a-workin'  fur  him  ez  a 
striker,  till  he  thinks  hisself  ez  good  a  black- 


4  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

smith  ez  Pete,  an'  better.  An'  all  of  a  suddenty 
this  same  'Vander  Price  riz  up  an'  made  a  con- 
sarn  ter  bake  bread  in,  seek  ez  bed  never  been 
seen  in  the  mountings  afore.  They  'lowed  down 
ter  M'ria's  ez  they  dunno  what  he  patterned 
arter.  The  Evil  One  must  hev  revealed  the 
contrivance  ter  him.  But  they  say  it  did  cook 
bread  in  less  'n  haffen  the  time  that  the  regular 
oven  takes ;  leastwise  his  granny's  bread,  'kase 
his  mother  air  a  toler'ble  sensible  woman,  an' 
would  tech  no  sech  foolish  fixin'.  But  his 
granny  'lowed  ez  she  didn't  hev  long  ter  live, 
nohow,  an'  mought  ez  well  please  the  chil'ren 
whilst  she  war  spared.  So  she  resked  a  batch 
o'  her  salt-risin'  bread  on  the  consarn,  an'  she 
do  say  it  riz  like  all  possessed,  an'  eat  toler'ble 
short.  An'  that  banged  critter  'Vander  war 
so  proud  o'  his  contrivance  that  he  showed  it 
ter  everybody  ez  kem  by  the  shop.  An'  when 
two  valley  men  rid  by,  an'  one  o'  thar  beastis 
cast  a  shoe,  'Vander  hed  ter  take  out  his  con- 
traption fur  them  ter  gape  over,  too.  An'  they 
nps  an'  says  they  hed  seen  the  like  afore  a-many 
a  time ;  sech  ovens  war  common  in  the  valley 
towns.  An'  when  they  fund  out  ez  'Vander 
hed  never  hearn  on  sech,  but  jes'  got  the  idee 
out  'n  his  own  foolishness,  they  jes'  stared  at 
one  another.  They  tole  the  boy  ez  he  oughter 
take  hisself  an'  his  peartness  in  workin'  in  iron 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  5 

down  yander  ter  some  o'  the  valley  towns,  whar 
he  'd  find  out  what  other  folks  hed  been  doin' 
in  metal,  an'  git  a  good  hank  on  his  knack  fur 
new  notions.  But  'Vander,  he  clung  ter  the 
mountings.  They  'lowed  down  yander  at 
M'ria's  quiltin1  ez  'Vander  fairly  tuk  ter  the 
woods  with  grief  through  other  folks  hevin' 
made  sech  contraptions  ez  his'n,  afore  he  war 
born." 

The  girl  stopped  short  in  her  work  of  pound- 
ing the  clothes,  and,  leaning  the  paddle  on  the 
bench,  looked  up  toward  the  forge  with  her 
luminous  brown  eyes  full  of  grave  compassion. 
Her  calico  sun-bonnet  was  thrust  half  off  her 
head.  Its  cavernous  recesses  made  a  back- 
ground of  many  shades  of  brown  for  her  auburn 
hair,  which  was  of  a  brilliant,  rich  tint,  highly 
esteemed  of  late  years  in  civilization,  but  in 
the  mountains  still  accounted  a  capital  defect. 
There  was  nothing  as  gayly  colored  in  all  the 
woods,  except  perhaps  a  red-bird,  that  carried 
his  tufted  top-knot  so  bravely  through  shade 
and  sheen  that  he  might  have  been  the  trans- 
migrated spirit  of  an  Indian,  still  roaming  in 
the  old  hunting-ground.  The  beech  shadows, 
delicately  green,  imparted  a  more  ethereal  fair- 
ness to  her  fair  face,  and  her  sombre  brown 
homespun  dress  heightened  the  effect  by  con- 
trast. Her  mother  noted  an  unwonted  flush 


6  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

upon  her  cheek,  and  recommenced  with  a  deep, 
astute  purpose. 

"  They  'lowed  down  yander  in  the  Cove,  ter 
M'ria's  quiltin',  ez  this  hyar  'Vander  Price  hev 
kem  ter  be  mighty  difficult,  sence  he  hev  been 
so  gin  over  ter  pride  in  his  oven  an'  sech.  They 
'lowed  ez  even  Pete  Blenkins  air  fairly  afeard 
o'  him.  Pete  hisself  hev  always  been  knowed 
ez  a  powerful  evil  man,  an'  what  'twixt  drink 
an'  deviltry  mos'  folks  hev  been  keerful  ter  gin 
him  elbow-room.  But  this  hyar  'Vander  Price 
hectors  round  an'  jaws  back  so  sharp  ez  Pete 
hev  got  ter  be  truly  mealy-mouthed  where 
'Vander  be.  They  'lowed  down  yander  at 
M'ria's  quiltin'  ez  one  day  Pete  an'  'Vander 
hed  a  piece  o'  iron  a-twixt  'em  on  the  anvil,  an' 
Pete  would  tap,  same  ez  common,  with  the 
hand-hammer  on  the  hot  metal  ter  show  'Van- 
der whar  ter  strike  with  the  sledge.  An'  Pete 
got  toler'ble  bouncin',  an'  kep'  faultin'  'Van- 
der, —  jes'  like  he  use  ter  quar'l  with  his  t'other 
striker,  till  the  man  would  bide  with  him  no 
more.  All  at  wunst  'Vander  hefted  the  sledge, 
an'  gin  Pete  the  ch'ice  ter  take  it  on  his  skull- 
bone,  or  show  more  manners.  An'  Pete  showed 
'em." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Lost  Creek  sounded 
some  broken  minor  chords,  as  it  dashed  against 
the  rocks  on  its  headlong  way.  The  wild  grapes 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  7 

were  blooming.  Their  fragrance,  so  delicate 
yet  so  pervasive,  suggested  some  exquisite  un- 
seen presence  —  the  dryads  were  surely  abroad  ! 
The  beech-trees  stretched  down  their  silver 
branches  and  green  shadows.  Through  rifts 
in  the  foliage  shimmered  glimpses  of  a  vast 
array  of  sunny  parallel  mountains,  converging 
and  converging,  till  they  seemed  to  meet  far 
away  in  one  long,  level  line,  so  ideally  blue  that 
it  looked  less  like  earth  than  heaven.  The 
pine-knots  flamed  and  glistered  under  the  great 
wash-kettle.  A  tree-toad  was  persistently  call- 
ing for  rain,  in  the  dry  distance.  The  girl, 
gravely  impassive,  beat  the  clothes  with  the 
heavy  paddle.  Her  mother  shortly  ceased  to 
prod  the  white  heaps  in  the  boiling  water,  and 
presently  took  up  the  thread  of  her  discourse. 

"  An'  'Vander  hev  got  ter  be  a  mighty  sud- 
dint  man.  I  hearn  tell,  when  I  war  down  ter 
M'ria's  house  ter  the  quiltin',  ez  how  in  that 
sorter  fight  an'  scrimmage  they  hed  at  the  mill, 
las'  month,  he  war  powerful  ill-conducted.  No- 
body hed  thought  of  hevin'  much  of  a  fight,  — 
thar  hed  been  jes'  a  few  licks  passed  atwixt 
the  men  thar ;  but  the  fust  finger  ez  war  laid 
on  this  boy,  he  jes'  lit  out  an'  fit  like  a  cat- 
amount. Right  an'  lef  he  lay  about  him  with 
his  fists,  an'  he  drawed  his  huntin'  knife  on 
some  of  'em.  The  men  at  the  mill  war  in  no 
wise  pleased  with  him." 


8  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

"  'Pears-like  ter  me  ez  'Vander  air  a  peace- 
able boy  enough,  ef  he  ain't  jawed  at,  an'  air 
lef  be,"  drawled  Cynthia. 

Her  mother  was  embarrassed  for  a  moment. 
Then,  with  a  look  both  sly  and  wise,  she  made 
an  admission, —  a  qualified  admission.  "  Waal, 
wimmen  —  ef  —  ef  —  ef  they  air  young  an'  tol- 
er'ble  hard-headed  yit,  air  likely  ter  jaw  some, 
ennyhow.  An'  a  gal  ought  n't  ter  marry  a  man 
ez  hev  sot  his  heart  on  bein'  lef  in  peace.  He  's 
apt  ter  be  a  mighty  soar  an'  disappointed  crit- 
ter." 

This  sudden  turn  to  the  conversation  invested 
all  that  had  been  said  with  new  meaning,  and 
revealed  a  subtle  diplomatic  intention.  The 
girl  seemed  deliberately  to  review  it,  as  she 
paused  in  her  work.  Then,  with  a  rising  flush, 
"  I  ain't  studyin'  'bout  marryin'  nobody,"  she 
asserted  staidly.  "  I  hev  laid  off  ter  live  single." 

Mrs.  Ware  had  overshot  the  mark,  but  she 
retorted,  gallantly  reckless,  "  That 's  what  yer 
aunt  Malviny  useter  declar'  fur  gospel  sure, 
when  she  war  a  gal.  An'  she  hev  got  ten 
chil'ren,  an'  hev  buried  two  husbands,  an'  ef 
all  they  say  air  true  she  's  tollin'  in  the  third 
man  now.  She  's  a  mighty  spry,  good-featured 
woman  an'  a  fust-rate  manager,  yer  aunt  Mal- 
viny air,  an'  both  her  husbands  lef  her  su'thin', 
—  cows,  or  wagons,  or  land.  An'  they  war 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  9 

quiet  men  when  they  war  alive,  an'  stays  whar 
they  air  put,  now  that  they  air  dead ;  not  like 
old  Parson  Hoodenpyle  what  his  wife  hears 
stumpin'  round  the  house  an'  preachin'  every 
night,  though  she  air  ez  deef  ez  a  post,  an' 
he  hev  been  in  glory  twenty  year, — twenty 
year,  an'  better.  Yer  aunt  Malviny  hed  luck, 
so  mebbe  't  ain't  no  killin'  complaint  fur  a  gal 
ter  git  ter  talkin'  like  a  fool  about  marryin'  an' 
sech.  Leastwise,  I  ain't  minded  ter  sorrow." 

She  looked  at  her  daughter  with  a  gay  grin, 
which,  distorted  by  her  toothless  gums  and  the 
wreathing  steam  from  the  kettle,  enhanced  her 
witch-like  aspect  and  was  spuriously  malevo- 
lent. She  did  not  notice  the  stir  of  an  approach 
through  the  brambly  tangles  of  the  heights 
above  until  it  was  close  at  hand  ;  as  'she  turned, 
she  thought  only  of  the  mountain  cattle,  —  to 
see  the  red  cow's  picturesque  head  and  crum- 
pled horns  thrust  over  the  sassafras  bushes,  or 
to  hear  the  brindle's  clanking  bell.  It  was  cer- 
tainly less  unexpected  to  Cynthia  when  a  young 
mountaineer,  clad  in  brown  jeans  trousers  and 
a  checked  homespun  shirt,  emerged  upon  the 
rocky  slope.  He  still  wore  his  blacksmith's 
leather  apron,  and  his  powerful  corded  ham- 
mer-arm was  bare  beneath  his  tightly  rolled 
sleeve.  He  was  tall  and  heavily  built ;  his  sun- 
burned face  was  square,  with  a  strong  lower 


10  IN   THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

jaw,  and  his  features  were  accented  by  fine  lines 
of  charcoal,  as  if  the  whole  were  a  clever  sketch. 
His  black  eyes  held  fierce  intimations,  but  there 
was  mobility  of  expression  about  them  that  sug- 
gested changing  impulses,  strong  but  fleeting. 
He  was  like  his  forge  fire:  though  the  heat 
might  be  intense  for  a  time,  it  fluctuated  with 
the  breath  of  the  bellows.  Just  now  he  was 
meekly  quailing  before  the  old  woman,  whom 
he  evidently  had  not  thought  to  find  here.  It 
was  as  apt  an  illustration  as  might  be,  perhaps, 
of  the  inferiority  of  strength  to  finesse.  She 
,  seemed  an  inconsiderable  adversary,  as  haggard, 
lean,  and  prematurely  aged  she  swayed  on  her 
prodding-stick  about  the  huge  kettle  ;  but  she 
was  as  a  veritable  David  to  this  big  young  Go- 
liath, though  she  too  flung  hardly  more  than  a 
pebble  at  him. 

"  Laws-a-me  !  "  she  cried,  in  shrill,  toothless 
glee  ;  "  ef  hyar  ain't  'Vander  Price  !  What 
brung  ye  down  hyar  along  o'  we-uns,  'Van- 
der?" she  continued,  with  simulated  anxiety. 
"  Hev  that  thar  red  heifer  o'  our'n  lept  over  the 
fence  agin,  an'  got  inter  Pete's  corn  ?  Waal, 
sir,  ef  she  ain't  the  headin'est  heifer  I  " 

"  I  hain't  seen  none  o'  yer  heifer,  ez  I  knows 
on,"  replied  the  young  blacksmith,  with  gruif, 
drawling  deprecation.  Then  he  tried  to  regain 
his  natural  manner.  "  I  kern  down  hyar,"  he 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  H 

remarked  in  an  off-hand  way,  "  ter  git  a  drink 
o'  water."  He  glanced  furtively  at  the  girl; 
then  looked  quickly  away  at  the  gallant  red- 
bird,  still  gayly  parading  among  the  leaves. 

The  old  woman  grinned  with  delight.  "  Now, 
ef  that  ain't  s'prisin',"  she  declared.  "  Ef  we 
hed  knowed  ez  Lost  Creek  war  a-goin'  dry  over 
yander  a-nigh  the  shop,  so  ye  an'  Pete  would 
hev  ter  kem  hyar  thirstin'  fur  water,  we-uns 
would  hev  brung  su'thin'  down  hyar  ter  drink 
out'n.  We-uns  hain't  got  no  gourd  hyar,  hev 
we,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  'Thout  it  air  the  little  gourd  with  the  saft 
soap  in  it,"  said  Cynthia,  confused  and  blush- 
ing. 

Her  mother  broke  into  a  high,  loud  laugh. 
"  Ye  ain't  wan  tin'  ter  gin  'Vander  the  soap- 
gourd  ter  drink  out'n,  Cynthy !  Leastwise,  I 
ain't  goin'  ter  gin  it  ter  Pete.  Fur  I  s'pose  ef 
ye  hev  ter  kem  a  haffen  mile  ter  git  a  drink, 
'Vander,  ez  surely  Pete  11  hev  ter  kem,  too. 
Waal,  waal,  who  would  hev  b'lieved  ez  Lost 
Creek  would  go  dry  nigh  the  shop,  an'  yit  be 
a-scuttlin'  along  like  that,  hyar-abouts!  "  and 
she  pointed  with  her  bony  finger  at  the  swift 
flow  of  the  water. 

He  was  forced  to  abandon  his  clumsy  pretense 
of  thirst.  "  Lost  Creek  ain't  gone  dry  nowhar, 
ez  I  knows  on,"  he  admitted,  mechanically  roll- 


12  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

ing  the  sleeve  of  his  hammer-arm  up  and  down 
as  he  talked.  "  It  air  toler'ble  high,  —  higher  'n 
I  ever  see  it  afore.  'T  war  jes'  night  afore  las' 
ez  two  men  got  a  kyart  sunk  in  a  quicksand, 
whilst  fordin'  the  creek.  An'  one  o'  thar 
wheels  kem  off,  an'  they  hed  right  smart  scuf- 
flin'  ter  keep  thar  load  from  washin'  out'n  the 
kyart  an'  driftin'  clean  away.  Leastwise,  that 
was  how  they  telled  it  ter  me.  They  war  val- 
ley men,  I  'm  a-thinkin'.  They  'lowed  ter  me 
ez  they  hed  ter  cut  thar  beastis  out  'n  the  traces. 
They  loaded  him  up  with  the  goods  an'  fotched 
him  ter  the  shop." 

Mrs.  Ware  forebore  her  ready  gibes  in  her  in- 
terest in  the  countryside  gossip.  She  ceased  to 
prod  the  boiling  clothes.  She  hung  motionless 
on  the  stick.  "  I  s'pose  they  'lowed,  mebbe,  ez 
what  sort'n  goods  they  hed,"  she  hazarded,  see- 
ing a  peddler  in  the  dim  perspective  of  a  pro- 
saic imagination. 

"  They  lef '  some  along  o'  we-uns  ter  keep  till 
they  kem  back  agin.  They  lowed  ez  they 
could  travel  better  ef  thar  beastis  war  eased 
some  of  his  load.  They  hed  some  o'  all  sorts  o' 
truck.  They  'lowed  ez  they  war  aimin'  ter  sot 
up  a  store  over  yander  ter  the  Settlemint  on 
Milksick  Mounting.  They  lef  right  smart  o' 
truck  up  yander  in  the  shed  ahint  the  shop', 
'pears  like  ter  me  it  air  a  kyart-load  itself. 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  13 

I  promised  ter  keer  fur  it  till  they  kem  back 
agin." 

Certainly,  so  far  as  Cynthia  was  concerned, 
the  sharpness  of  wits  and  the  acerbity  of  tem- 
per ascribed  generally  to  the  red-haired  gentry 
could  be  accounted  no  slander.  The  flame-col- 
ored halo  about  her  face,  emblazoned  upon  the 
dusky  depths  of  her  old  brown  bonnet,  was  not 
more  fervid  than  an  angry  glow  overspreading 
her  delicate  cheek,  and  an  intense  fiery  spark 
suddenly  alight  in  her  brown  eyes. 

"  Pete  Blenkins  mus'  be  sodden  with  drink, 
I  'm  a-thinkin'  !  "  she  cried  impatiently.  "  Like 
ez  not  them  men  will  'low  ez  the  truck  ain't  all 
thar,  when  they  kem  back.  An'  then  thar  '11 
be  a  tremenjious  scrimmage  ter  the  shop,  an' 
somebody  '11  git  hurt,  an'  mebbe  killed." 

"  Waal,  Cynthy,"  exclaimed  her  mother,  in 
tantalizing  glee,  "  air  you-uns  goin'  ter  ache 
when  Pete's  head  gits  bruk  ?  That 's  power- 
ful 'commodatin'  in  ye,  cornsiderin'  ez  he  hev 
got  a  wife,  an'  chil'ren  ez  old  ez  ye  be.  Waal, 
sorrow  fur  Pete,  ef  ye  air  so  minded." 

The  angry  spark  in  Cynthia's  eyes  died  out 
as  suddenly  as  it  kindled.  She  began  to  beat 
the  wet  clothes  heavily  with  the  paddle,  and  her 
manner  was  that  of  having  withdrawn  herself 
from  the  conversation.  The  young  blacksmith 
had  flushed,  too,  and  he  laughed  a  little,  but 


14  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

demurely.  Then,  as  he  still  rolled  and  unrolled 
the  sleeve  of  his  hammer-arm,  his  wonted  grav- 
ity returned. 

"  Pete  hain't  got  nothin'  ter  do  with  it,  no- 
how," he  averred.  "  Pete  hev  been  away  fur  two 
weeks  an'  better :  he  hev  gone  ter  see  his  uncle 
Joshua,  over  yander  on  Caney  Fork.  He  'lowed 
ez  apple-jack  grows  powerful  fine  in  them  parts." 

"  Then  who  war  holpin'  at  the  forge  ter- 
day  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Ware,  surprised.  "  I  'lowed 
I  hearn  the  hand-hammer  an'  sledge  too,  same 
ez  common." 

There  was  a  change  among  the  lines  of  char- 
coal that  seemed  to  define  his  features.  He 
looked  humbled,  ashamed.  "  I  hed  my  brother 
a-strikin'  fur  me,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Why,  'Vander,"  exclaimed  the  old  woman 
shrilly,  "that  thar  boy's  a  plumb  idjit!  Ye 
ought  n't  trust  him  along  o'  that  sledge  !  He  'd 
jes'  ez  lief  maul  ye  on  the  head  with  it  ez  maul 
the  hot  iron.  Ye  know  he  air  ez  strong  ez 
a  ox ;  an'  the  critter 's  fursaken  in  his  mind." 

"  I  knows  that,"  Evander  admitted.  "  I 
would  n't  hev  done  it,  ef  I  hed  n't  been  a-work- 
in'  on  a  new  fixin'  ez  I  hev  jes'  thought  up,  an' 
I  war  jes'  obligated  ter  hev  somebody  ter  strike 
fur  me.  An'  laws-a-massy,  'Lijah  wouldn't 
harm  nobody.  The  critter  war  ez  peart  an' 
lively  ez  a  June-bug,  — so  proud  ter  be  allowed 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  15 

ter  work  around  like  folks !  "  He  stopped  short 
in  sudden  amazement :  something  stood  in  his 
eyes  that  had  no  habit  there  ;  its  presence  stu- 
pefied him.  For  a  moment  he  could  not  speak, 
and  he  stood  silently  gazing  at  that  long,  level 
blue  line,  in  which  the  converging  mountains 
met,  —  so  delicately  azure,  so  ethereally  sug- 
gestive, that  it  seemed  to  him  like  the  Promised 
Land  that  Moses  viewed.  "  The  critter  air 
mighty  aggervatin'  mos'ly  ter  the  folks  at  our 
house,"  he  continued,  "  but  they  hectors  him. 
He  treats  me  well." 

"An  ill  word  is  spoke  'bout  him  ginerally 
round  the  mounting,"  said  the  old  woman,  who 
had  filled  and  lighted  her  pipe,  and  was  now 
trying  to  crowd  down  the  charge,  so  to  speak, 
without  scorching  too  severely  her  callous  fore- 
finger. "  I  hev  hearn  folks  'low  ez  he  hev  got 
so  turrible  crazy  ez  he  oughter  be  sent  away  an' 
shet  up  in  jail.  An'  it  'pears  like  ter  me  ez 
that  word  air  jestice.  The  critter  's  fursaken." 

"  Fursaken  or  no  fursaken,  he  ain  't  goin'  ter 
be  jailed  fur  nothin', — 'ceptin'  that  the  hand 
o'  the  Lord  air  laid  too  heavy  on  him.  I  can't 
lighten  its  weight.  I  'm  mortial  myself.  The 
rider  says  thar  's  some  holp  in  prayer.  I  hain  't 
seen  it  yit,  though  I  hev  been  toler'ble  busy 
lately  a-workin'  in  metal,  one  way  an'  another. 
What  good  air  it  goin'  ter  do  the  mounting  ter 


16  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Lev  'Lijah  jailed,  stiddier  goin'  round  the  woods 
a-talkin'  ter  the  grasshoppers  an'  squir'ls,  ez 
seem  ter  actially  know  the  critter,  an'  bein'  ez 
happy  ez  they  air,  'ceptin'  when  he  gits  it  inter 
his  noodle,  like  he  sometimes  do,  ez  he  ain't 
edzactly  like  other  folks  be  ?  "  He  paused. 
Those  strange  visitants  trembled  again  upon 
his  smoke-blackened  lids.  "  Fursaken  or  no,'* 
he  cried  impulsively,  "  the  man  ez  tries  ter  git 
him  jailed  will  'low  ez  he  air  fursaken  his  own 
self,  afore  I  gits  done  with  him ! " 

"  'Vander  Price,"  said  the  old  woman  rebuk- 
ingly,  "  ye  talk  like  ye  hain  't  got  good  sense 
yerself."  She  sat  down  on  a  rock  embedded 
in  the  ferns  by  Lost  Creek,  and  pulled  deliber- 
ately at  her  long  cob-pipe.  Then  she  too  turned 
her  faded  eyes  upon  the  vast  landscape,  in  which 
she  had  seen  no  change,  save  the  changing  sea- 
son and  the  waxing  or  the  waning  of  the  day, 
since  first  her  life  had  opened  upon  it.  That 
level  line  of  pale  blue  in  the  poetic  distance 
had  become  faintly  roseate.  The  great  bronze- 
green  ranges  nearer  at  hand  were  assuming  a 
royal  purple.  Shadows  went  skulking  down 
the  valley.  Across  the  amber  zenith  an  eagle 
was  flying  homeward.  Her  mechanical  glance 
followed  the  sweeping,  majestic  curves,  as  the 
bird  dropped  to  its  nest  in  the  wild  fastnesses 
of  Pine  Mountain,  that  towered,  rugged  and 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  17 

severe  of  outline,  against  the  crimson  west.  A 
cow-bell  jangled  in  the  laurel. 

"  Old  Suke  's  a-comin'  home  ez  partic'lar 
an'  percise  ez  ef  she  hed  her  calf  thar  yit.  I 
hev  traded  Suke's  calf  ter  my  merried  daugh- 
ter M'ria,  —  her  ez  merried  Amos  Baker,  in 
the  Cove.  The  old  brindle  can't  somehow  on- 
derstan'  the  natur'  o'  the  bargain,  an'  kerns 
up  every  night  moo-ing,  mighty  disappointed. 
'T  war  n't  much  shakes  of  a  calf,  nohow,  an'  I 
stood  toler'ble  well  arter  the  trade." 

She  looked  up  at  the  young  man  with  a  leer 
of  self-gratulation.  He  still  lingered,  but  the 
unsophisticated  mother  in  the  mountains  can  be 
as  much  an  obstacle  to  anything  in  the  nature 
of  love-making,  when  the  youth  is  not  approved, 
as  the  expert  tactician  of  a  drawing-room.  He 
had  only  the  poor  consolation  of  helping  Cyn- 
thia to  carry  in  the  load  of  stiff,  dry  clothes  to 
the  log  cabin,  ambushed  behind  the  beech-trees, 
hard  by  in  the  gorge.  The  house  had  a  very 
un confiding  aspect ;  all  its  belongings  seemed 
huddled  about  it  for  safe-keeping.  The  bee- 
hives stood  almost  under  the  eaves ;  the  ash- 
hopper  was  visible  close  in  the  rear ;  the  rain- 
barrel  affiliated  with  the  damp  wall ;  the  chick- 
ens were  going  to  roost  in  an  althea  bush  beside 
the  porch  ;  the  boughs  of  the  cherry  and  plum 
and  crab-apple  trees  were  thickly  interlaced 


18  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

above  the  path  that  led  from  the  rickety  rail 
fence,  and  among  their  roots  flag-lilies,  lark- 
spur, and  devil-in-the-bush  mingled  in  a  floral 
mosaic.  The  old  woman  went  through  the 
gate  first.  But  even  this  inadvertence  could 
not  profit  the  loitering  young  people.  "  Law, 
Cynthy,"  she  exclaimed,  pointing  at  a  loose- 
jointed  elderly  mountaineer,  who  was  seated 
beneath  the  hop  vines  on  the  little  porch,  while 
a  gaunt  gray  mare,  with  the  plow-gear  still 
upon  her,  cropped  the  grass  close  by,  "  yander 
is  yer  daddy,  ez  empty  ez  a  gourd,  I'll  be 
bound !  Hurry  an'  git  supper,  child.  Time  's 
a-wastin',  —  time 's  a-wastin' !  " 

When  Evander  was  half-way  up  the  steep 
slope,  he  turned  and  looked  down  at  the  em- 
bowered little  house,  that  itself  turned  its  face 
upward,  looking  as  it  were  to  the  mountain's 
summit.  How  it  nestled  there  in  the  gorge ! 
He  had  seen  it  often  and  often  before,  but 
whenever  he  thought  of  it  afterward  it  was  as 
it  appeared  to  him  now:  the  darkling  valley 
below  it,  the  mountains  behind  it,  the  sunset 
sky  still  flaring  above  it,  though  stars  had  blos- 
somed out  here  and  there,  and  the  sweet  June 
night  seemed  full  of  their  fragrance.  He  could 
distinguish  for  a  good  while  the  gate,  the  rick- 
ety fence,  the  path  beneath  the  trees.  The 
vista  ended  in  the  open  door,  with  the  broad 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  19 

flare  of  the  fire  illumining  the  puncheon  floor 
and  the  group  of  boisterous  tow-headed  chil- 
dren ;  in  the  midst  was  the  girl,  with  her  bright 
hair  and  light  figure,  with  her  round  arms  bare, 
and  her  deft  hand  stirring  the  batter  for  bread 
in  a  wooden  bowl.  She  looked  the  very  genius 
of  home,  and  so  he  long  remembered  her. 

The  door  closed  at  last,  and  he  slowly  re- 
sumed his  way  along  the  steep  slope.  The 
scene  that  had  just  vanished  seemed  yet  vividly 
present  before  him.  The  gathering  gloom 
made  less  impression.  He  took  scant  heed  of 
external  objects,  and  plodded  on  mechanically. 
He  was  very  near  the  forge  when  his  senses 
were  roused  by  some  inexplicable  inward  moni- 
tion. He  stood  still  to  listen :  only  the  insects 
droning  in  the  chestnut-oaks,  only  the  wind 
astir  in  the  laurel.  The  night  possessed  the 
earth.  The  mountains  were  sunk  in  an  indis- 
tinguishable gloom,  save  where  the  horizontal 
line  of  their  summits  asserted  itself  against  an 
infinitely  clear  sky.  But  for  a  hunter's  horn, 
faintly  wound  and  faintly  echoed  in  Lost  Creek 
Valley,  he  might  have  seemed  the  only  human 
creature  in  all  the  vast  wilderness.  He  saw 
through  the  pine  boughs  the  red  moon  rising. 
The  needles  caught  the  glister,  and  shone  like 
a  golden  fringe.  They  overhung  dusky,  angular 
shadows  that  he  knew  was  the  little  shanty  of 


20  IN  THE  TENNESSEE   MOUNTAINS. 

a  blacksmith  shop.  In  its  dark  recesses  was  a 
dull  red  point  of  light,  where  the  forge  fire  still 
smouldered.  Suddenly  it  was  momentarily 
eclipsed.  Something  had  passed  before  it. 

"  'Lijah  !  "  he  called  out,  in  vague  alarm. 
There  was  no  answer.  The  red  spark  now 
gleamed  distinct. 

"  Look-a-hyar,  boy,  what  be  you-uns  a-doin' 
of  thar  ?  "  he  asked,  beset  with  a  strange  anxi- 
ety and  a  growing  fear  of  he  knew  not  what. 

Still  no  answer. 

It  was  a  terrible  weapon  he  had  put  into  the 
idiot's  hand  that  day,  —  that  heavy  sledge  of 
his.  He  grew  cold  when  he  remembered  poor 
Elijah's  pleasure  in  useful  work,  in  his  great 
strength  gone  to  waste,  in  the  ponderous  imple- 
ment that  he  so  lightly  wielded.  He  might 
well  have  returned  to-night,  with  some  vague, 
distraught  idea  of  handling  it  again.  And  what 
vague,  distraught  idea  kept  him  skulking  there 
with  it? 

"  Foolin'  along  o'  that  new  straw-cutter  ter- 
day  will  be  my  ruin,  I  'm  afeard,"  Evander 
muttered  ruefully.  Then  the  sudden  drops 
broke  out  on  his  brow.  "  I  pray  ter  mercy," 
he  exclaimed  fervently,  "  the  boy  hain  't  been 
a-sp'ilin'  o'  that  thar  new  straw-cutter  !  " 

This  fear  dominated  all  others.  He  strode 
hastily  forward.  "  Come  out  o'  thar,  'Lijah  !  " 
he  cried  roughly. 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  21 

There  were  moving  shadows  in  the  great  barn- 
like  door,  —  three  —  four  —  The  moon  was 
behind  the  forge,  and  he  could  not  count  them. 
They  were  advancing  shadows.  A  hand  was 
laid  upon  his  arm.  A  drawling  voice  broke  lan- 
guidly on  the  night.  "  I  'm  up  an'  down  sorry 
ter  hev  ter  arrest  you-uns,  'Vander,  bein'  ez  we 
air  neighbors  an'  mos'ly  toler'ble  friendly ;  but 
law  is  law,  an'  ye  air  my  prisoner,"  and  the 
constable  of  the  district  paused  in  the  exercise 
of  his  functions  to  gnaw  off  a  chew  of  tobacco 
with  teeth  which  seemed  to  have  grown  blunt 
in  years  of  that  practice  ;  then  he  leisurely  re- 
sumed :  "  I  war  jes'  sayin'  ter  the  sheriff  an* 
dep'ty  hyar,"  —  indicating  the  figures  in  the 
doorway,  —  "  ez  we-uns  hed  better  lay  low  till 
we  seen  how  many  o'  you-uns  war  out  hyar; 
else  I  wouldn't  hev  kep'  ye  waitin'  so  long." 

The  young  mountaineer's  amazement  at  last 
expressed  itself  in  words.  "  Ye  hev  surely  los' 
yer  senses,  Jubal  Tynes  !  What  air  ye  arrestin* 
of  me  fur?" 

"  Fur  receivin'  of  stolen  goods,  —  the  shed 
back  yander  air  full  of  'em.  I  dunno  whether 
ye  holped  ter  rob  the  cross-roads  store  or  no ; 
but  yander 's  the  goods  in  the  shed  o'  the  shop, 
an'  Pete's  been  away  two  weeks,  an'  better ;  so 
't  war  obleeged  ter  be  you-uns  ez  received  'em." 

Evander,  in  a  tumult  of  haste,  told  his  story. 


22  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  constable  laughed  lazily,  with  his  quid  be- 
tween his  teeth.  "  Mebbe  so,  —  mebbe  so  ;  but 
that's  fur  the  jedge  an'  jury  ter  study  over. 
Them  men  never  tuk  thar  kyart  no  furder. 
'Twar  never  stuck  in  no  quicksand  in  Lost 
Creek.  They  knowed  the  sheriff  war  on  thar 
track,  an'  they  stove  up  thar  kyart,  an'  sent  the 
spokes  an'  shafts  an'  sech  a-driftin'  down  Lost 
Creek,  thinkin'  't  would  be  swallered  inter  the 
mounting  an'  never  be  seen  agin.  But  jes'  whar 
Lost  Creek  sinks  under  the  mounting  the  drift 
war  cotched.  We  fund  it  thar,  an'  knowed  ez 
all  we  hed  ter  do  war  ter  trace  'em  up  Lost 
Creek.  An'  hyar  we  be  !  The  goods  hev  been 
identified  this  very  hour  by  the  man  ez  owns 
'em.  I  hope  ye  never  holped  ter  burglarize  the 
store,  too ;  but 't  ain't  fur  me  ter  say.  Ye  hev 
ter  kem  along  o'  we-uns,  whether  ye  like  it  or 
no,"  and  he  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  his  prisoner's 
shoulder. 

The  next  moment  he  was  reeling  from  a  pow- 
erful blow  planted  between  the  eyes.  It  even 
felled  the  stalwart  constable,  for  it  was  so  sud- 
denly dealt.  But  Jubal  Tynes  was  on  his  feet 
in  an  instant,  rushing  forward  with  a  bull-like 
bellow.  Once  more  he  measured  his  length 
upon  the  ground,  —  close  to  the  anvil  this  time, 
for  the  position  of  all  the  group  had  changed  in 
the  fracas.  He  did  not  rise  again ;  the  second 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  23 

blow  was  struck  with  the  ponderous  sledge.  As 
the  men  hastened  to  lift  him,  they  were  much 
hindered  by  the  ecstatic  capers  of  the  idiot 
brother,  who  seemed  to  have  been  concealed  in 
the  shop.  The  prisoner  made  no  attempt  at 
flight,  although,  in  the  confusion,  he  was  for- 
gotten for  the  time  by  the  officers,  and  had  some 
chance  of  escape.  He  appeared  frightened  and 
very  meek ;  and  when  he  saw  that  there  was 
blood  upon  the  sledge,  and  they  said  brains,  too, 
he  declared  that  he  was  sorry  he  had  done  it. 

"  /done  it !  "  cried  the  idiot  joyfully.  "  Jube 
sha'n't  fight  'Vander  !  /done  it !  "  and  he  was 
so  boisterously  grotesque  and  wild  that  the  men 
lost  their  wits  while  he  was  about ;  so  they 
turned  him  roughly  out  of  the  forge,  and  closed 
the  doors  upon  him.  At  last  he  went  away,  al- 
though for  a  time  he  beat  loudly  upon  the  shut- 
ter, and  called  piteously  for  Evander. 

It  was  a  great  opportunity  for  old  Dr.  Patton, 
who  lived  six  miles  down  the  valley,  and  zeal- 
ously he  improved  it.  He  often  felt  that  in  this 
healthful  country,  where  he  was  born,  and  where 
bucolic  taste  and  local  attachment  still  kept 
him,  he  was  rather  a  medical  theorist  than  a 
medical  practitioner,  so  few  and  slight  were  the 
demands  upon  the  resources  of  his  science.  He 
was  as  one  who  has  long  pondered  the  unsug- 
gestive  details  of  the  map  of  a  region,  and  who 


24  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

suddenly  sees  before  him  its  glowing,  vivid 
landscape. 

"  A  beautiful  fracture  !  "  he  protested  with 
rapture,  —  "a  beautiful  fracture  !  " 

Through  all  the  countryside  were  circulated 
his  cheerful  accounts  of  patients  who  had  sur- 
vived fracture  of  the  skull.  Among  the  simple 
mountaineers  his  learned  talk  of  the  trephine 
gave  rise  to  the  startling  report  that  he  intended 
to  put  a  linchpin  into  Jubal  Tynes's  head.  It 
was  rumored,  too,  that  the  unfortunate  man's 
brains  had  "  in  an'  about  leaked  haffen  out ;  " 
and  many  freely  prompted  Providence  by  the 
suggestion  that  "  ef  Jube  war  ready  ter  die  it 
war  high  time  he  war  taken,"  as,  having  been 
known  as  a  hasty  and  choleric  man,  it  was  pre- 
dicted that  he  would  "  make  a  most  survigrus 
idjit." 

"  Cur'ous  enough  ter  me  ter  find  out  ez  Jube 
ever  hed  brains,"  commented  Mrs.  Ware. 
"  'T  war  well  enough  ter  let  some  of  'em  leak 
out  ter  prove  it.  He  hev  never  showed  he  hed 
brains  no  other  way,  ez  I  knows  on.  Now," 
she  added,  "  somebody  oughter  tap  'Vander's 
head,  an'  mebbe  they  '11  find  him  pervided,  too. 
Wonders  will  never  cease  !  Nobody  would  hev 
accused  Jube  o'  sech.  Folks  '11  hev  ter  respec' 
them  brains.  'Vander  done  him  that  favior  in 
splitting  his  head  open." 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  25 

"  'T  war  n't  '  Vander's  deed  !  "  Cynthia  de- 
clared passionately.  She  reiterated  this  phrase 
a  hundred  times  a  day,  as  she  went  about  her 
household  tasks.  "  'T  war  n't  'Vander's  deed  !  " 
How  could  she  prove  that  it  was  not,  she  asked 
herself  as  often,  —  and  prove  that  against  his 
own  wordx? 

For  she  herself  had  heard  him  acknowledge 
the  crime.  The  new  day  had  hardly  broken 
when,  driving  her  cow,  she  came  by  the  black- 
smith's shop,  all  unconscious  as  yet  of  the  trag- 
edy it  had  housed.  A  vague  prescience  of  dawn 
was  on  the  landscape  ;  dim  and  spectral,  it  stood 
but  half  revealed  in  the  doubtful  light.  The 
stars  were  gone  ;  even  the  sidereal  outline  of 
the  great  Scorpio  had  crept  away.  But  the 
gibbous  moon  still  swung  above  the  dark  and 
melancholy  forests  of  Pine  Mountain,  and  its 
golden  chalice  spilled  a  dreamy  glamour  all 
adown  the  lustrous  mists  in  Lost  Creek  Valley. 
Ever  and  anon  the  crags  reverberated  with  the 
shrill  clamor  of  a  watch-dog  at  a  cabin  in  the 
Cove;  for  there  was  an  unwonted  stir  upon 
the  mountain's  brink.  The  tramp  of  horses, 
the  roll  of  wheels,  the  voices  of  the  officers  at 
the  forge,  busily  canvassing  their  preparations 
for  departure,  sounded  along  the  steeps.  The 
sight  of  the  excited  group  was  as  phenomenal 
to  old  Suke  as  to  Cynthia,  and  the  cow  stopped 


26  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

short  in  her  shambling  run,  and  turned  aside 
into  the  blooming  laurel  with  a  muttered  low 
and  with  crouching  horns.  Early  wayfarers 
along  the  road  had  been  attracted  by  the  un- 
usual commotion.  A  rude  slide  drawn  by  a 
yoke  of  oxen  stood  beneath  the  great  pine  that 
overhung  the  forge,  while  the  driver  was  breath- 
lessly listening  to  the  story  from  the  deputy 
sheriff.  A  lad,  mounted  on  a  lank  gray  mare, 
let  the  sorry  brute  crop,  unrebuked,  the  sassa- 
fras leaves  by  the  wayside,  while  he  turned  half 
round  in  his  saddle,  with  a  white  horror  on  his 
face,  to  see  the  spot  pointed  out  on  which  Jubal 
Tynes  had  fallen.  The  wounded  man  had  been 
removed  to  the  nearest  house,  but  the  ground 
was  still  dank  with  blood,  and  this  heightened 
the  dramatic  effects  of  the  recital.  The  sher- 
iff's posse  and  their  horses  were  picturesquely 
grouped  about  the  open  barn-like  door,  and  the 
wagon  laden  with  the  plunder  stood  hard  by. 
It  had  been  discovered,  when  they  were  on  the 
point  of  departure,  that  one  of  the  animals  had 
cast  a  shoe,  and  the  prisoner  was  released  that 
he  might  replace  it. 

When  Evander  kindled  the  forge  fire  he  felt 
that  it  was  for  the  last  time.  The  heavy  sigh- 
ing of  the  bellows  burst  forth,  as  if  charged 
with  a  conscious  grief.  As  the  fire  alternately 
flared  and  faded,  it  illumined  with  long,  evanes- 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  27 

cent  red  rays  the  dusky  interior  of  the  shop :  the 
horseshoes  hanging  upon  a  rod  in  the  window, 
the  plowshares  and  bars  of  iron  ranged  against 
the  wall,  the  barrel  of  water  in  the  corner,  the 
smoky  hood  and  the  anvil,  the  dark  spot  on  the 
ground,  and  the  face  of  the  blacksmith  himself, 
as  he  worked  the  bellows  with  one  hand,  while 
the  other  held  the  tongs  with  the  red-hot  horse- 
shoe in  the  fire.  It  was  a  pale  face.  Somehow, 
all  the  old  spirit  seemed  spent.  Its  wonted 
suggestions  of  a  dogged  temper  and  latent 
fierceness  were  effaced.  It  bore  marks  of  pa- 
tient resignation,  that  might  have  been  wrought 
by  a  life-time  of  self-sacrifice,  rather  than  by 
one  imperious  impulse,  as  potent  as  it  was  irre- 
vocable. The  face  appeared  in  some  sort  sub- 
limated. 

The  bellows  ceased  to  sigh,  the  anvil  began 
to  sing,  the  ringing  staccato  of  the  hammer 
punctuated  the  droning  story  of  the  deputy 
sheriff,  still  rehearsing  the  sensation  of  the  hour 
to  the  increasing  crowd  about  the  door.  The 
girl  stood  listening,  half  hidden  in  the  bloom- 
ing laurel.  Her  senses  seemed  strangely  sharp- 
ened, despite  the  amazement,  the  incredulity, 
that  possessed  her.  She  even  heard  the  old 
cow  cropping  the  scanty  grass  at  her  feet,  and 
saw  every  casual  movement  of  the  big  brindled 
head.  She  was  conscious  of  the  splendid  her- 


28  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

aid  of  a  new  day  flaunting  in  the  east.  Against 
this  gorgeous  presence  of  crimson  and  gold, 
brightening  and  brightening  till  only  the  rising 
sun  could  outdazzle  it,  she  noted  the  romantic 
outlines  of  the  Cumberland  crags  and  woody 
heights,  and  marveled  how  near  they  appeared. 
She  was  sensible  of  the  fragrance  of  the  dewy 
azaleas,  and  she  heard  the  melancholy  song  of 
the  pines,  for  the  wind  was  astir.  She  marked 
the  grimaces  of  the  idiot,  looking  like  a  dim 
and  ugly  dream  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the 
forge.  His  face  was  filled  now  with  strange, 
wild  triumph,  and  now  with  partisan  anger  for 
his  brother's  sake  ;  for  Evander  was  more  than 
once  harshly  upbraided. 

"  An'  so  yer  tantrums  hev  brung  ye  ter  this 
e-end,  at  last,  'Vander  Price  !  "  exclaimed  an 
old  man  indignantly.  "  I  misdoubted  ye  when 
I  hearn  how  ye  fit,  that  day,  yander  ter  the 
mill ;  an'  they  do  say  ez  even  Pete  Blenkins  air 
plumb  afeard  ter  jaw  at  ye,  nowadays,  on  'count 
o'  yer  fightin'  an'  quar'lin'  ways.  An'  now 
ye  hev  gone  an'  bodaciously  slaughtered  pore 
Jubal  Tynes !  From  what  I  hev  hearn  tell,  I 
jedge  he  air  obleeged  ter  die.  Then  nothin' 
kin  save  ye !  " 

The  girl  burst  suddenly  forth  from  the  flow- 
ering splendors  of  the  laurel.  "  'T  war  n't 
'Vander's  deed ! "  she  cried,  perfect  faith  in 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  29 

every  tone.     "  'Vander,  ' Vander,  who  did  it  ? 
Who  did  it  ?  "  she  reiterated  imperiously. 

Her  cheeks  were  aflame.  An  eager  expec- 
tancy glittered  in  her  wide  brown  eyes.  Her 
auburn  hair  flaunted  to  the  breeze  as  brilliantly 
as  those  golden  harbingers  of  the  sun.  Her 
bonnet  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  her  milk- 
piggin  was  rolling  away.  The  metallic  stac- 
cato of  the  hammer  was  silenced.  A  vibratory 
echo  trembled  for  an  instant  on  the  air.  The 
group  had  turned  in  slow  surprise.  The  black- 
smith looked  mutely  at  her.  But  the  idiot 
was  laughing  triumphantly,  almost  sanely,  and 
pointing  at  the  sledge  to  call  her  attention  to 
its  significant  stains.  The  sheriff  had  laid  the 
implement  carefully  aside,  that  it  might  be  pro- 
duced in  court  in  case  Jubal  Tynes  should  pass 
beyond  the  point  of  affording,  for  Dr.  Patton's 
satisfaction,  a  gratifying  instance  of  survival 
from  fracture  of  the  skull,  and  die  in  a  com- 
monplace fashion  which  is  of  no  interest  to  the 
books  or  the  profession. 

"'T  war  n't   'Vander's   deed!     It   couldn't 
be  !  "  she  declared  passionately. 

For  the  first  time  he  faltered.  There  was 
a  pause.  He  could  not  speak. 

"  1  done  it !  "  cried  the  idiot,  in  shrill  glee. 

Then  Evander  regained  his  voice.  "  'T  war 
me  ez  done  it,"  he  said  huskily,  turning  away 


30  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

to  the  anvil  with  a  gesture  of  dull  despair.     "  I 
done  it !  " 

Fainting  is  not  a  common  demonstration  in 
the  mountains.  It  seemed  to  the  bewildered 
group  as  if  the  girl  had  suddenly  dropped  dead. 
She  revived  under  the  water  and  cinders  dashed 
into  her  face  from  the  barrel  where  the  steel 
was  tempered.  But  life  returned  enfeebled 
and  vapid.  That  vivid  consciousness  and  in- 
tensity of  emotion  had  reached  a  climax  of  sen- 
sibility, and  now  she  experienced  the  reaction. 
It  was  in  a  sort  of  lethargy  that  she  watched 
their  preparations  to  depart,  while  she  sat  upon 
a  rock  at  the  verge  of  the  clearing.  As  the 
wagon  trundled  away  down  the  road,  laden 
with  the  stolen  goods,  one  of  the  posse  looked 
back  at  her  with  some  compassion,  and  observed 
to  a  companion  that  she  seemed  to  take  it  con- 
siderably to  heart,  and  sagely  opined  that  she 
and  'Vander  "  must  hev  been  a-keepin'  com- 
pany tergether  some.  But  then,"  he  argued, 
"  she  's  a  downright  good-lookin'  gal,  ef  she  do 
be  so  red-headed.  An'  thar  air  plenty  likely 
boys  left  in  the  mountings  yit;  an'  ef  thar  ain't, 
she  can  jes'  send  down  the  valley  a  piece  fur 
me !  "  and  he  laughed,  and  went  away  quite 
cheerful,  despite  his  compassion.  The  horse- 
men were  in  frantic  impatience  to  be  off,  and 
presently  they  were  speeding  in  single  file  along 
the  sandy  mountain  road. 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  31 

Cynthia  sat  there  until  late  in  the  day,  wist- 
fully gazing  down  the  long  green  vista  where 
they  had  disappeared.  She  could  not  believe 
that  Evander  had  really  gone.  Something,  she 
felt  sure,  would  happen  to  bring  them  back. 
Once  and  again  she  thought  she  heard  the 
beat  of  hoofs,  —  of  distant  hoofs.  It  was  only 
the  melancholy  wind  in  the  melancholy  pines. 

They  were  laden  with  snow  before  she  heard 
aught,  of  him.  Beneath  them,  instead  of  the 
dusky  vistas  the  summer  had  explored,  were 
long  reaches  of  ghastly  white  undulations, 
whence  the  boles  rose  dark  and  drear.  The 
Cumberland  range,  bleak  and  bare,  with  its 
leafless  trees  and  frowning  cliffs,  stretched  out 
long,  parallel  spurs,  one  above  another,  one  be- 
yond another,  tier  upon  tier,  till  they  appeared 
to  meet  in  one  distant  level  line  somewhat 
grayer  than  the  gray  sky,  somewhat  more  des- 
olate of  aspect  than  all  the  rest  of  the  desolate 
world.  When  the  wind  rose,  Pine  Mountain 
mourned  with  a  mighty  voice.  Cynthia  had 
known  that  voice  since  her  birth.  But  what 
new  meaning  in  its  threnody !  Sometimes  the 
forest  was  dumb  ;  the  sun  glittered  frigidly, 
and  the  pines,  every  tiny  needle  encased  in  ice, 
shone  like  a  wilderness  of  gleaming  rays.  The 
crags  were  begirt  with  gigantic  icicles  ;  the  air 
was  crystalline  and  cold,  and  the  only  sound 


32  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

was  the  clinking  of  the  hand-hammer  and  the 
clanking  of  the  sledge  from  the  forge  on  the 
mountain's  brink.  For  there  was  a  new  striker 
there,  of  whom  Pete  Blenkins  did  not  stand 
in  awe.  He  felt  peculiarly  able  to  cope  with 
the  world  in  general  since  his  experience  had 
been  enriched  by  a  recent  trip  to  Sparta.  He 
had  been  subpoenaed  by  the  prosecution  in  the 
case  of  the  State  of  Tennessee  versus  Evander 
Price,  to  tell  the  jury  all  he  knew  of  the  vio- 
lent temper  of  his  quondam  striker,  which  he 
did  with  much  gusto  and  self-importance,  and 
pocketed  his  fee  with  circumspect  dignity. 

"  'Vander  looks  toler'ble  skimpy  an'  jail- 
bleached,  —  so  Pete  Blenkins  say,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Ware,  as  she  sat  smoking  her  pipe  in  the 
chimney  corner,  while  Cynthia  stood  before  the 
warping  bars,  winding  the  party-colored  yarn 
upon  the  equidistant  pegs  of  the  great  frame. 
"  Pete  'lowed  ter  me  ez  he  hed  tole  you-uns  ez 
'Vander  say  he  air  powerful  sorry  he  would 
never  1'arn  ter  write,  when  he  went  ter  the 
school  at  the  Notch.  'Vander  say  he  never 
knowed  ez  he  would  have  a  use  for  sech.  But 
law!  the  critter  hed  better  be  studyin'  'bout 
the  opportunities  he  hev  wasted  fur  grace  ;  fur 
they  say  now  ez  Jube  Tynes  air  bound  ter  die. 
An'  he  will  fur  true,  ef  old  Dr.  Patton  air  the 
man  I  take  him  fur." 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  33 

"  'T  war  n't  'Vander's  deed,"  said  Cynthia, 
her  practiced  hands  still  busily  investing  the 
warping  bars  with  a  homely  rainbow  of  scarlet 
and  blue  and  saffron  yarn.  It  added  an  embel- 
lishment to  the  little  room,  which  was  already 
bright  with  the  firelight  and  the  sunset  stream- 
ing in  at  the  windows,  and  the  festoons  of  red 
pepper  and  popcorn  and  peltry  swinging  from 
the  rafters. 

"  Waal,  waal,  hev  it  so,"  said  her  mother,  in 
acquiescent  dissent,  —  "  hev  it  so  !  But  't  war 
his  deed  receivin'  of  the  stolen  goods  ;  leastwise, 
the  jury  b'lieved  so.  Pete  say,  though,  ez  they 
would  n't  hev  been  so  sure,  ef  it  war  n't  fur 
'Vander's  resistin'  arrest  an'  in  an'  about  haffen 
killin'  Jubal  Tynes.  Pete  say  ez  'Vander's 
name  fur  fightin'  an'  sech  seemed  ter  hev  sot 
the  jury  powerful  agin  him." 

"  An'  thar  war  nobody  thar  ez  would  gin  a 
good  word  fur  him !  "  cried  the  girl,  dropping 
her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  poignant  despair. 

"  'T  war  n't  in  reason  ez  thar  could  be,"  said 
Mrs.  Ware.  "  'Vander's  lawyer  never  sum- 
monsed but  a  few  of  the  slack-jawed  boys  from 
the  Settlemint  ter  prove  his  good  character,  an* 
Pete  said  they  'peared  awk'ard  in  thar  minds 
an'  flustrated,  an'  spoke  more  agin  'Vander  'n 
fur  him.  Pete  'lows  ez  they  hed  ter  be  paid 
thar  witness-fee  by  the  State,  too,  on  account  of 


34  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

'Vander  hevin'  no  money  ter  fetch  witnesses  an" 
sech  ter  Sparty.  His  dad  an'  mam  air  mighty 
shiftless  —  always  war,  —  an'  they  hev  got  that 
hulking  idjit  ter  eat  'em  out  'n  house  an'  home. 
They  hev  been  mightily  put  ter  it  this  winter 
ter  live  along,  'thout  'Vander  ter  holp  'em,  like 
he  uster.  But  they  war  no  ways  anxious  'bout 
his,  trial,  'kase  Squair  Bates  tole  'em  ez  the 
jedge  would  app'int  a  lawyer  ter  defend  'Van- 
der, ez  he  hed  no  money  ter  hire  a  lawyer  fur 
hisself.  An'  the  jedge  app'inted  a  young  law- 
yer thar;  an'  Pete  'lowed  ez  that  young  law- 
yer made  the  trial  the  same  ez  a  gander-pullin' 
fur  the  'torney-gineral.  Pete  say  ez  that  young 
lawyer's  ways  tickled  the  'torney-gineral  haffen 
ter  death.  Pete  say  the  'torney-gineral  jes'  sot 
out  ter  devil  that  young  lawyer,  an'  he  done  it. 
Pete  say  the  young  lawyer  hed  never  hed  more 
'n  one  or  two  cases  afore,  an'  he  acted  so  fool- 
ish that  the  'torney-gineral  kep'  all  the  folks 
laffin'  at  him.  The  jury  laffed,  an'  so  did  the 
jedge.  I  reckon  'Vander  thought  't  war  mighty 
pore  fun.  Pete  say  ez  'Vander's  lawyer  furgot 
a  heap  ez  he  oughter  hev  remembered,  an'  fairly 
ruined  'Vander's  chances.  Arter  the  trial  the 
'torney-gineral  'lowed  ter  Pete  ez  the  State  hed 
hed  a  mighty  shaky  case  agin  'Vander.  ,  But  I 
reckon  he  jes'  said  that  ter  make  his  own  smart- 
ness in  winnin'  it  seem  more  s'prisin'.  'Vander 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  35 

war  powerful  interrupted  by  thar  laffin'  an'  the 
game  they  made  o'  his  lawyer,  an'  said  he  did 
n't  want  no  appeal.  He  'lowed  he  hed  seen 
enough  o'  jestice.  He  'lowed  ez  he  'd  take  the 
seven  years  in  the  pen'tiary  that  the  jury  gin 
him,  fur  fear  at  the  nex'  trial  they  'd  gin  him 
twenty-seven  ;  though  the  'torney-gineral  say 
ef  Jube  dies  they  will  fetch  him  out  agin,  an' 
try  him  fur  that.  The  'torney-gineral  'lowed 
ter  Pete  ez  'Vander  war  a  fool  not  ter  move  fur 
a  new  trial  an'  appeal,  an'  sech.  He  'lowed  ez 
'Vander  war  a  derned  ignorant  man.  An'  all 
the  folks  round  the  court-house  gin  thar  opinion 
ez  'Vander  hev  got  less  gumption  'bout  'n  the 
law  o'  the  land  than  enny  man  they  ever  see, 
'cept  that  young  lawyer  he  hed  ter  defend  him. 
Pete  air  powerful  sati'fied  with  his  performin' 
in  Sparty.  He  ups  an'  'lows  ez  they  paid  him 
a  dollar  a  day  fur  a  witness-fee,  an'  treated  him 
mighty  perlite,  —  the  jedge  an'  jury  too." 

How  Cynthia  lived  through  that  winter  of 
despair  was  a  mystery  to  her  afterward.  Often, 
as  she  sat  brooding  over  the  midnight  embers, 
she  sought  to  picture  to  herself  some  detail  of 
the  life  that  Evander  was  leading  so  far  away. 
The  storm  would  beat  heavily  on  the  roof  of 
the  log  cabin,  the  mountain  wind  sob  through 
the  sighing  pines  ;  ever  and  anon  a  wolf  might 
howl  in  the  sombre  depths  of  Lost  Creek  Val- 


36  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

ley.  But  Evander  had  become  a  stranger  to 
her  imagination.  She  could  not  construct  even 
a  vague  status  that  would  answer  for  the  prob- 
lematic mode  of  life  of  the  "  valley  folks  "  who 
dwelt  in  Nashville,  or  in  the  penitentiary  hard 
by.  She  began  to  appreciate  that  it  was  a 
narrow  existence  within  the  limits  of  Lost 
Creek  Valley,  and  that  to  its  simple  denizens 
the  world  beyond  was  a  foreign  world,  full  of 
strange  habitudes  and  alien  complications.  Thus 
it  came  to  pass  that  he  was  no  longer  even  a 
vision.  Because  of  this  subtle  bereavement  she 
would  fall  to  sobbing  drearily  beside  the  dreary, 
dying  fire,  —  only  because  of  this,  for  she  never 
wondered  if  her  image  to  him  had  also  grown 
remote.  How  she  pitied  him,  so  lonely,  so 
strange,  so  forlorn,  as  he  must  be !  Did  he 
yearn  for  the  mountains  ?  Could  he  see  them 
in  the  spirit  ?  Surely  in  his  dreams,  surely  in 
some  kindly  illusion,  he  might  still  behold  that 
fair  land  which  touched  the  sky:  the  golden 
splendors  of  the  sunshine  sifting  through  the 
pines ;  flying  shadows  of  clouds  as  fleet  racing 
above  the  distant  ranges  ;  untrodden  woodland 
nooks  beside  singing  cascades ;  or  some  lonely 
pool,  whence  the  gray  deer  bounded  away 
through  the  red  sumach  leaves. 

Sombre  though  the  present  was,  the  future 
seemed  darker  still,  clouded  by  the  long  and 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  37 

terrible  suspense  concerning  the  wounded  offi- 
cer's fate  and  the  crime  that  Evander  had  ac- 
knowledged. 

"  He  could  n't  hev  done  it,"  she  argued  fu- 
tilely.  "  'T  war  n't  his  deed." 

She  grew  pale  and  thin,  and  her  strength 
failed  with  her  failing  spirit,  and  her  mother 
querulously  commented  on  the  change. 

"  An'  sech  a  hard  winter  ez  we-uns  air  a-tus- 
slin'  with;  an'  that  thar  ewe  a-dyin'  ez  M'ria 
traded  fur  my  little  calf,  ez  war  wuth  forty  sech 
dead  critters ;  an'  hyar  be  Cynthy  lookin'  like 
she  hed  fairly  pegged  out  forty  year  ago,  an' 
been  raised  from  the  grave,  —  an'  all  jes'  'kase 
'Vander  Price  hev  got  ter  be  a  evil  man,  an' 
air  locked  up  in  the  pen'tiary.  It  beats  my 
time  !  He  never  said  nothin'  'bout  marryin', 
nohow,  ez  I  knows  on.  I  never  would  hev 
b'lieved  you-uns  would  hev  turned  off  Jeemes 
Blake,  ez  hev  got  a  good  grist-mill  o'  his  own 
an'  a  mighty  desirable  widder-woman  fur  a 
mother,  jes'  account  of  'Vander  Price.  An* 
'Vander  will  never  kem  back  ter  Pine  Mount- 
ing no  more  'n  Lost  Creek  will." 

Cynthia's  color  flared  up  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  sedately  replied,  "  I  hev  tole  Jeemes 
Blake,  and  1  hev  tole  you-uns,  ez  I  count  on 
Hvin'  single." 

"  I  '11  be  bound  ye  never  tole  'Vander  that 


38  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

word  !  "  cried  the  astute  old  woman.  "  Waal, 
waal,  waal !  "  she  continued,  in  exclamatory  dis- 
approval, as  she  leaned  to  the  fire  and  scooped 
up  a  live  coal  into  the  bowl  of  her  pipe,  "  a  gal 
is  a  aggervatin'  contrivance,  ennyhow,  in  the 
world  !  But  I  jes'  up  an'  tole  Jeemes  ez  ye 
hed  got  ter  lookin'  so  peaked  an'  mournful, 
like  some  critter  ez  war  shot  an'  creepin'  away 
ter  die  somewhar,  an'  he  hed  n't  los'  much, 
arter  all."  She  puffed  vigorously  at  her  pipe ; 
then,  with  a  change  of  tone,  "  An'  Jeemes  air 
mighty  slack-jawed  ter  his  elders,  too !  He 
tuk  me  up  ez  sharp.  He  'lowed  ez  he  hed  no 
fault  ter  find  with  yer  looks.  He  said  ye  war 
pritty  enough  fur  him.  Then  my  dander  riz, 
an'  I  spoke  up,  an'  says,  4  Mebbe  so,  Jeemes, 
mebbe  so,  fur  ye  air  in  no  wise  pritty  yerself.' 
An'  then  he  gin  me  no  more  of  his  jaw,  but 
arter  he  hed  sot  a  while  longer  he  said,  '  Far'- 
well,'  toler'ble  perlite,  an'  put  out." 

After  a  long  time  the  snow  slipped  gradually 
from  the  mountain  top,  and  the  drifts  in  the 
deep  abysses  melted,  and  heavy  rains  came  on. 
The  mists  clung,  shroud-like,  to  Pine  Mountain. 
The  distant  ranges  seemed  to  withdraw  them- 
selves into  indefinite  space,  and  for  weeks  Cyn- 
thia was  bereft  of  their  familiar  presence.  Myr- 
iads of  streamlets,  channeling  the  gullies  and 
swirling  among  the  bowlders,  were  flowing 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  39 

down  the  steeps  to  join  Lost  Creek,  on  its  way 
to  its  mysterious  sepulchre  beneath  the  moun- 
tains. 

And  at  last  the  spring  opened.  A  vivid 
green  tipped  the  sombre  plumes  of  the  pines. 
The  dull  gray  mists  etherealized  to  a  silver 
gauze,  and  glistened  above  the  mellowing  land- 
scape. The  wild  cherry  was  blooming  far  and 
near.  From  the  summit  of  the  mountain  could 
be  seen  for  many  a  mile  the  dirt-road  in  the 
valley,  —  a  tawny  streak  of  color  on  every  hill- 
top, or  winding  by  every  fallow  field  and  rocky 
slope.  A  wild,  new  hope  was  suddenly  astir 
in  Cynthia's  heart ;  a  new  energy  fired  her 
blood.  It  may  have  been  only  the  recuperative 
power  of  youth  asserting  itself.  To  her  it  was 
as  if  she  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  Lord ;  and 
she  arose  and  followed  it. 


H. 

Following  the  voice  of  the  Lord,  Cynthia  took 
her  way  along  a  sandy  bridle-path  that  pene- 
trates the  dense  forests  of  Pine  Mountain.  The 
soft  spring  wind,  fluttering  in  beneath  her  sun- 
bonnet,  found  the  first  wild-rose  blooming  on 
her  thin  cheek.  A  new  light  shone  like  a  stead- 
fast star  in  her  deep  brown  eyes.  "  I  hev  took 
a-holt,"  she  said  resolutely,  "  an'  I  '11  never  gin 


40  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

it  up.  'T  war  n't  his  deed,  an'  I  '11  prove  that, 
agin  his  own  word.  I  dunno  how,  —  but  I  '11 
prove  it." 

The  woods  seemed  to  open  at  last,  for  the 
brink  of  the  ridge  was  close  at  hand.  As  the 
trees  were  marshaled  down  the  steep  declivity, 
she  could  see  above  their  heads  the  wide  and 
splendid  mountain  landscape,  with  the  benedic- 
tion of  the  spring  upon  it,  with  the  lofty  peace 
of  the  unclouded  sky  above  it,  with  an  impres- 
sive silence  pervading  it  that  was  akin  to  a  holy 
solemnity. 

There  was  a  rocky,  barren  slope  to  the  left, 
and  among  the  brarnbly  ledges  sheep  were  feed- 
ing. As  the  flock  caught  her  attention  she  ex- 
perienced a  certain  satisfaction.  "  They  hed 
sheep  in  the  Lord's  lifetime,"  she  observed. 
"  He  gins  a  word  'bout  'n  them  more  'n  enny 
other  critter." 

And  she  sat  down  on  a  rock,  among  the  harm- 
less creatures,  and  was  less  lonely  and  forlorn. 

A  little  log  house  surmounted  the  slope.  It 
was  quaintly  awry,  like  most  of  the  mountain- 
eers' cabins,  and  the  ridgepole,  with  its  irregu- 
larly projecting  clapboards  serrating  the  sky  be- 
hind it,  described  a  negligently  oblique  line. 
Its  clay  chimney  had  a  leaning  tendency,  and 
was  propped  to  its  duty  by  a  long  pole.  There 
was  a  lofty  martin-house,  whence  the  birds 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  41 

whirled  fitfully.  The  rail  fence  inclosing  the 
dooryard  was  only  a  few  steps  from  the  porch. 
There  rested  the  genial  afternoon  sunshine.  It 
revealed  the  spinning-wheel  that  stood  near  the 
wall ;  the  shelf  close  to  the  door,  with  a  pail  of 
water  and  a  gourd  for  the  incidentally  thirsty  ; 
the  idle  churn,  its  dasher  on  another  shelf  to 
dry ;  a  rooster  strutting  familiarly  in  at  the 
open  door  ;  and  a  newly  hatched  brood  picking 
about  among  the  legs  of  the  splint-bottomed 
chairs,  under  the  guidance  of  a  matronly  old 
"  Dominicky  hen."  In  one  of  the  chairs  sat  a 
man,  emaciated,  pallid,  swathed  in  many  gay- 
colored  quilts,  and  piping  querulously  in  a  high, 
piercing  key  to  a  worn  and  weary  woman,  who 
came  to  the  fence  and  looked  down  the  hill  as 
he  feebly  pointed. 

"  Cynthy  —  Cynthy  Ware !  "  she  called  out, 
"  air  that  you-uns  ?" 

Cynthia  hesitated,  then  arose  and  went  for- 
ward a  few  steps.  "  It  be  me,"  she  said,  as  if 
making  an  admission. 

"  Kem  up  hyar.  Jube  's  wantin'  ter  know 
why  ye  hain't  been  hyar  ter  inquire  arter  him." 
The  woman  waited  at  the  gate,  and  opened  it 
for  her  visitor.  She  looked  hardly  less  worn 
and  exhausted  than  the  broken  image  of  a  man 
in  the  chair.  "  Jube  counts  up  every  critter  in 
the  mountings  ez  kerns  ter  inquire  arter  him," 


42     IN  TH&  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

she  added,  in  a  lower  voice.  "  'Pears-like  ter 
me  ez  it  air  about  time  fur  worldly  pride  ter 
Lev  loosed  a-holt  on  him  ;  but  Satan  kin  foster 
guile  whar  thar  ain't  enough  life  left  fur  nuthin' 
else,  an'  pore  Jube  hev  never  been  so  gin  over 
ter  the  glory  o'  this  world  ez.now." 

"  He  'pears  ter  be  gittin'  on  some,"  said  the 
girl,  although  she  hardly  recognized  in  the 
puny,  pallid  apparition  among  the  muffling 
quilts  the  bluff  and  hale  mountaineer  she  had 
known. 

"  Fust-rate  !  "  weakly  piped  out  the  constable. 
"  I  eat  a  haffen  pone  o'  bread  fur  dinner !  " 
Then  he  turned  querulously  to  his  wife  :  "  Jane 
Elmiry,  ain't  ye  goin'  ter  git  me  that  thar  fraish 
aig  ter  whip  up  in  whiskey,  like  the  doctor 
said?" 

"  'T  ain't  time  yit,  Jube,"  replied  the  patient 
wife.  "  The  doctor  'lowed  ez  the  aig  must  be 
spang  fraish  ;  an'  ez  old  Topknot  lays  ter  the 
minit  every  day,  I  'm  a-waitin'  on  her." 

The  wasted  limbs  under  the  quilts  squirmed 
around  vivaciously.  "  An'  yander  's  the  darned 
critter,"  he  cried,  spying  old  Topknot  leisurely 
pecking  about  under  a  lilac  bush,  "  a-feedin' 
around  ez  complacent  an'  sati'fied  ez  ef  I  war 
n't  a-settin'  hyar  waitin'  on  her  lazy  bones ! 
Cynthy,  I  'm  jes'  a-honing  arter  suthin'  ter  eat 
all  the  time,  an'  that 's  what  makes  me  'low  ez 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  43 

I'm  gittin'  well;  though  Jane  Elmiry" — he 
glared  fiercely  at  his  meek  wife,  "  hev  some- 
hows  los'  her  knack  at  cookin',  an'  sometimes 
I'  can't  eat  my  vittles  when  they  air  fetched 
ter  me." 

He  fell  back  in  his  chair,  his  tangled,  over- 
grown hair  hardly  distinguishable  from  his  tan- 
gled, overgrown  beard.  His  eyes  roved  rest- 
lessly about  the  quiet  landscape.  A  mist  was 
gathering  over  the  eastern  ranges ;  shot  with 
the  sunlight,  it  was  but  a  silken  and  filmy  sug- 
gestion of  vapor.  A  line  of  vivid  green  in  the 
valley  marked  the  course  of  Lost  Creek  by  the 
willows  and  herbage  fringing  its  banks.  A 
gilded  bee,  with  a  languorous  drone,  drifted  in 
and  out  of  the  little  porch,  and  the  shadow  of 
the  locust  above  it  was  beginning  to  lengthen. 
The  tree  was  in  bloom,  and  Cynthia  picked  up 
a  fallen  spray  as  she  sat  down  on  the  step.  He 
glanced  casually  at  her  ;  then,  with  the  ego- 
tism of  an  invalid,  his  mind  reverted  to  himself. 

"  Why  hain't  ye  been  hyar  ter  inquire  arter 
me,  Cynthy,  —  you-uns,  or  yer  dad,  or  yer  mam, 
or  somebody  ?  I  hain't  been  lef  ter  suffer, 
though,  'thout  folkses  axin'  arter  me,  I  tell  ye  ! 
The  miller  hev  been  hyar  day  arter  day.  Ba- 
ker Teal,  what  keeps  the  store  yander  ter  the 
Settlemint,  hev  rid  over  reg'lar.  Tom  Peters 
kerns  ez  sartain  ez  the  sun.  An'  the  jestice  o' 


44  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

the  peace"  —  he  winked  weakly  in  triumph, 
"  Squair  Bates  —  hev  been  hyar  nigh  on  ter 
wunst  a  week.  The  sheriff  or  one  o'  the  dep'- 
ties  hain't  been  sca'ce  round  hyar,  nuther.  An' 
some  other  folkses  —  I  name  no  names  —  sends 
me  all  the  liquor  I  kin  drink  from  a  still  ez  they 
say  grows  in  a  hollow  rock  round  hyar  sorne- 
whar.  They  sends  me  all  I  kin  drink,  an'  Jane 
Elmiry,  too.  I  don't  want  but  a  little,  but  Jane 
Elmiry  air  a  tremenjious  toper,  ye  know ! " 
He  laughed  in  a  shrill  falsetto  at  his  joke,  and 
his  wife  smiled,  but  faintly,  for  she  realized  the 
invalid's  pleasant  mood  was  brief.  "  Ef  I  hed 
a-knowed  how  pop'lar  I  be,  I  'd  hev  run  fur  jes- 
tice  o'  the  peace  stiddier  constable.  But  nex' 
time  thar'll  be  a  differ  ;  that  hain't  the  las'  elec- 
tion this  world  will  ever  see,  Cynthy."  Then, 
as  his  eyes  fell  upon  her  once  more,  he  remem- 
bered his  question.  "  Why  n't  ye  been  hyar 
ter  inquire  arter  me  ?  " 

The  girl  was  confused  by  his  changed  aspect, 
his  eager,  restless  talk,  his  fierce  girding  at  his 
patient  wife,  and  lost  what  scanty  tact  she 
might  have  otherwise  claimed. 

"  The  folkses  ez  rid  by  hyar  tole  us  how  ye 
be  a-gittin'  on.  An'  we-uns  'lowed  ez  mebbe 
ye  would  n't  want  ter  see  us,  bein'  ez  we  war 
always  sech  friends  with  'Vander,  an'  "  — 

The  woman  stopped  her  by  a  hasty  gesture 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  45 

and  a  look  of  terror.  They  did  not  escape  the 
invalid's  notice. 

"  What  ails  ye,  Jane  Elrairy  ?  "  he  cried,  an- 
grily. "  Ye  act  like  ye  war  distracted  !  " 

A  sudden  fit  of  coughing  impeded  his  utter- 
ance, and  gave  his  wife  the  opportunity  for  a 
whispered  aside.  "  He  ain't  spoke  'Vander's 
name  sence  he  war  hurt.  The  doctor  said  he 
war  n't  ter  talk  about  his  a-gittin'  hurt,  an'  the 
man  ez  done  it.  The  doctor  'lowed  't  would 
fever  him  an'  put  him  out  'n  his  head,  an'  he 
must  jes'  think  'bout  'n  gittin'  well  all  the 
time,  an'  sech." 

Jubal  Tynes  had  recovered  his  voice  and  his 
temper.  "I  hain't  got  no  grudge  agin'  'Van- 
der,"  he  declared,  in  his  old,  bluff  way,  "  nur 
'Vander's  friends,  nuther.  It  air  jes'  that  dad- 
burned  idjit,  'Lijah,  ez  I  despise.  Jane  El- 
miry,  ain't  that  old  Topknot  ez  I  hear  a-cack- 
lin'  ?  Waal,  waal,  sir,  dad-burn  that  thar  lazy, 
idle  poultry  !  Air  she  a-stalkin'  round  the  yard 
yit  ?  Go,  Jane  Elmiry,  an'  see  whar  she  be. 
Ef  she  ain't  got  sense  enough  ter  git  on  her 
nest  an  lay  a  aig  when  desirable,  she  hain't  got 
sense  enough  ter  keep  out  'n  a  chicken  pie." 

"  I  mought  skeer  her  off  'n  her  nest,"  his 
wife  remonstrated. 

But  the  imperious  invalid  insisted.  She  rose 
reluctantly,  and  as  she  stepped  off  the  porch 
she  cast  an  imploring  glance  at  Cynthia. 


46  iN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  girl  was  trembling.  The  mere  mention 
of  the  deed  to  its  victim  had  unnerved  her. 
She  felt  it  was  perhaps  a  safe  transition  from 
the  subject  to  talk  about  the  idiot  brother.  "  I 
Lev  hearn  folks  'low  ez  'Lijah  oughter  be 
locked  up,  but  I  dunno,"  she  said. 

The  man  fixed  a  concentrated  gaze  upon  her. 
"Waal,  ain't  he?" 

"  'Lijah  ain't  locked  up,"  she  faltered,  bewil- 
dered. 

His  face  fell.  Unaccountably  enough,  his 
pride  seemed  grievously  cut  down. 

"  Waal,  'Lijah  ain't  'sponsible,  I  know,"  he 
reasoned;  ubut  bein'  ez  he  treated  me  this  way, 
an'  me  a  important  off'cer  o'  the  law,  'pears- 
like  't  would  a-been  more  respec'ful  ef  they  bed 
committed  him  ter  jail  ez  insane,  or  sent  him 
ter  the  'sylum,  —  fur  they  take  some  crazies  at 
the  State's  expense."  He  paused  thoughtfully. 
He  was  mortified,  hurt.  "But  shucks  !  "  he 
exclaimed  presently,  "  let  him  treat  haffen  the 
county  ez  he  done  me,  ef  he  wants  ter.  I  ain't 
a-keerin'." 

Cynthia's  head  was  awhirl.  She  could  hardly 
credit  her  senses. 

"  How  war  it  that  'Lijah  treated  you-uns  ?  " 
she  gasped. 

In  his  turn  he  stared,  amazed. 

"  Cynthy,  'pears-like  ye  hev  los'  yer  mind  J 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  47 

How  did  'Lijah  treat  me  ?  Waal,  'Lijah 
whacked  me  on  the  head  with  his  brother's 
sledge,  an'  split  my  skull,  an'  the  folks  say 
some  o'  my  brains  oozed  out.  I  hev  got  more 
of  'em  now,  though,  than  ye  hev.  Ye  look 
plumb  bereft.  What  ails  the  gal?  " 

"  Air  ye  sure  —  sure  ez  that  war  the  happen- 
ing of  it  ?  —  kase  '  Vander  tells  a  differ.  He 
'lowed  ez  't  war  him  ez  hit  ye  with  the  sledge. 
An'  nobody  suspicioned  'Lijah." 

Jubal  Tynes  looked  very  near  death  now. 
His  pallid  face  was  framed  in  long  elf-locks  ;  he 
thrust  his  head  forward,  till  his  emaciated 
throat  and  neck  were  distinctly  visible  ;  his 
lower  jaw  dropped  in  astonishment. 

"God  A'mighty !  "  he  ejaculated,  "why  hev 
'Vander  tole  sech  a  lie?  Sure!  Why,  I  seen 
'Lijah  !  'Vander  never  teched  the  sledge.  An* 
'Vander  never  teched  me." 

"  Ye  hev  f  urgot,  mebbe,"  she  urged,  fever- 
ishly.  "  'T  war  in  the  dark." 

"  Listen  at  the  gal  argufyin'  with  me !  "  he 
exclaimed,  angrily.  "  I  seen  'Lijah,  I  tell  ye, 
in  the  light  o'  the  forge  fire.  'T  war  n't  more  'n 
a  few  coals,  but  ez  'Lijah  swung  his  arm  it 
fanned  the  fire,  an'  it  lept  up.  I  seen  his  face 
in  the  glow,  an'  the  sledge  in  his  hand.  'Lijah 
war  hid  a-hint  the  hood.  'Vander  war  t'  other 
side  o'  the  anvil.  I  gripped  with  'Lijah.  I 


48  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

seen  him  plain.  He  hit  me  twict.  I  never 
los'  my  senses  till  the  second  lick.  Then  I 
drapped.  What  ails  'Vander,  ter  tell  sech  a 
lie?  Ef  I  hed  a-died,  stiddier  gittin'  well  so 
powerful  peart,  they'd  hev  hung  him,  sure." 

"Mebbe  he  thought  they'd  hang  'Lijah  ! " 
she  gasped,  appalled  at  the  magnitude  of  the 
sacrifice. 

"  'Lijah  ain't  'sponsible  ter  the  law,"  said 
Jubal  Tynes,  with  his  magisterial  aspect, 
"  bein'  ez  he  air  a  ravin'  crazy,  ez  oughter  be 
locked  up." 

"  I  reckon  'Vander  never  knowed  ez  that  war 
true,"  she  rejoined,  reflectively.  "  The  'torney- 
gineral  tole  Pete  Blenkins,  when  'Vander  war 
convicted  of  receivin'  of  stolen  goods,  ez  how 
'Vander  war  toler'ble  ignorant,  an'  knowed 
powerful  little  'bout  the  law  o'  the  land.  He 
done  it,  I  reckon,  ter  pertect  the  idjit." 

Jubal  Tynes  made  no  rejoinder.  He  had  fallen 
back  in  his  chair,  so  frail,  so  exhausted  by  the 
unwonted  excitement,  that  she  was  alarmed 
anew,  realizing  how  brief  his  time  might  be. 

"  Jubal  Tynes,"  she  said,  leaning  forward 
and  looking  up  at  him  imploringly,  "  ef  I  war 
ter  tell  what  ye  hev  tole  me,  nobody  would  be- 
lieve me,  'kase  —  'kase  'Vander  an'  me  hev  kep' 
company  some.  Hed  n't  ye  better  tell  it  ter 
the  Squair  ez  how  'Vander  never  hit  ye,  but 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  49 

said  he  did,  ter  git  the  blame  shet  o'  the  idjit 
'Lijah,  ez  ain't  'sponsible,  nohows  ?  Ain't  thar 
no  way  ter  make  it  safe  fur  'Vander  ?  They 
'lowed  he  would  n't  hev  been  convicted  of  re- 
ceivin'  of  stolen  goods  'ceptin'  fur  the  way  the 
jury  thought  he  behaved  'bout  resistin'  arrest 
an'  hittin'  ye  with  the  sledge." 

The  sick  man's  eyes  were  aflame.  "  Ye  'low 
ez  I  'm  goin'  ter  die,  Cynthy  Ware  !  "  he  cried, 
with  sudden  energy.  "  I  '11  gin  ye  ter  onder- 
stand  ez  I  feel  ez  strong  ez  a  ox  !  I  won't  do 
nuthin'  fur  'Vander.  Let  him  stand  or  fall  by 
the  lie  he  hev  tole  !  I  feel  ez  solid  ez  Pine 
Mounting  !  I  won't  do  nuthin'  ez  ef  I  war 
a-goin'  ter  die, — like  ez  ef  I  war  a  chicken 
with  the  pip  —  an'  whar  air  that  ole  hen  ez 
war  nominated  ter  lay  a  aig,  ter  whip  up  in 
whiskey,  an'  ain't  done  it  ?  " 

A  sudden  wild  cackling  broke  upon  the  air. 
The  red  rooster,  standing  by  the  gate,  stretched 
up  his  long  neck  to  listen,  and  lifted  his  voice 
in  jubilant  sympathy.  Jubal  Tynes  looked 
around  at  Cynthia  with  a  laugh.  Then  his 
brow  darkened,  and  his  mind  reverted  to  his 
refusal. 

"  Ye  jes'  onderstand,"  he  reiterated,  "  ez  I 
won't  do  nuthin'  like  ez  ef  I  war  goin'  ter  die." 

She  got  home  as  best  she  could,  weeping  and 
wringing  her  hands  much  of  the  way,  feeling 


50  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

baffled  and  bruised,  and  aghast  at  the  terrible 
perplexities  that  crowded  about  her. 

Jubal  Tynes  had  a  bad  night.  He  was  rest- 
less and  fretful,  and  sometimes,  when  he  had 
been  still  for  a  while,  and  seemed  about  to  sink 
into  slumber,  he  would  start  up  abruptly,  de- 
claring that  he  could  not  "  git  shet  of  studying 
'bout  'n  'Vander,  an'  'Lijah,  an'  the  sledge," 
and  violently  wishing  that  Cynthia  Ware  had 
died  before  she  ever  came  interrupting  him 
about  'Vander,  and  'Lijah,  and  the  sledge. 
Toward  morning  exhaustion  prevailed.  He 
sank  into  a  deep,  dreamless  sleep,  from  which 
he  woke  refreshed  and  interested  in  the  mat- 
ter of  breakfast. 

That  day  a  report  went  the  excited  rounds  of 
the  mountain  that  he  had  made  a  sworn  state- 
ment before  Squire  Bates,  denying  that  Evander 
Price  had  resisted  arrest,  exonerating  him  of  all 
connection  with  the  injuries  supposed  to  have 
been  received  at  his  hands,  and  inculpating  only 
the  idiot  Elijah.  This  was  supplemented  by 
Dr.  Patton's  affidavit  as  to  his  patient's  mental 
soundness  and  responsibility. 

It  roused  Cynthia's  flagging  spirit  to  an  ec- 
stasy of  energy.  Her  strength  was  as  fictitious 
as  the  strength  of  delirium,  but  it  sufficed. 
Opposition  could  not  baffle  it.  Obstacles  but 
multiplied  its  expedients.  She  remembered 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  51 

that  the  trained  and  astute  attorney  for  the 
State  had  declared  to  Pete  Blenkins,  after  the 
trial,  that  the  prosecution  had  no  case  against 
Evander  Price  for  receiving  stolen  goods,  and 
must  have  failed  but  for  the  prejudice  of  the 
jury.  It  was  proved  to  them  by  his  own  con- 
fession that  he  had  resisted  arreit  and  assaulted 
the  officer  of  the  law,  and  circumstantial  evi- 
dence had  a  light  task,  with  this  auxiliary,  to 
establish  other  charges.  Now,  she  thought,  if 
the  jury  that  convicted  him,  the  judge  that  sen- 
tenced him,  and  the  governor  of  the  State  were 
cognizant  of  this  stupendous  self-sacrifice  to 
fraternal  affection,  could  they,  would  they,  still 
take  seven  years  of  his  life  from  him  ?  At  least, 
they  should  know  of  it,  —  she  had  resolved  on 
that.  She  hardly  appreciated  the  difficulty  of 
the  task  before  her.  She  was  densely  ignorant. 
She  lived  in  a  primitive  community.  Such  a 
paper  as  a  petition  for  executive  clemency  had 
never  been  drawn  within  its  experience.  She 
could  not  have  discovered  that  this  proceeding 
was  practicable,  except  for  the  pride  of  office 
and  legal  lore  of  Jubal  Tynes.  He  joyed  in  dis- 
playing his  learning  ;  but  beyond  the  fact  that 
such  a  paper  was  possible,  and  sometimes  suc- 
cessful, and  that  she  had  better  see  the  lawyer 
at  the  Settlement  about  it,  he  suggested  nothing 
of  value.  And  so  she  tramped  a  matter  of  ten 


52  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

miles  along  the  heavy,  sandy  road,  through  the 
dense  and  lonely  woods  ;  and  weary,  but  flushed 
with  joyous  hope,  she  came  upon  the  surprised 
lawyer  at  the  Settlement.  This  was  a  man  who 
built  the  great  structure  of  justice  upon  a  foun- 
dation of  fees.  He  listened  to  her,  noted  the 
poverty  of  her  aspect,  and  recommended  her  to 
secure  the  cooperation  of  the  convict's  imme- 
diate relatives.  And  so,  patiently  back  again, 
along  the  dank  and  darkening  mountain  road. 
The  home  of  her  lover  was  not  an  inviting 
abode.  When  she  had  turned  from  the  thor- 
oughfare into  a  vagrant,  irresponsible-looking 
path,  winding  about  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
it  might  have  seemed  that  in  a  group  which 
presently  met  her  eyes,  the  animals  were  the 
more  emotional,  alert,  and  intelligent  element. 
The  hounds  came  huddling  over  the  rickety 
fence,  and  bounded  about  her  in  tumultuous 
recognition.  An  old  sow,  with  a  litter  of  shrill 
soprano  pigs,  started  up  from  a  clump  of  weeds, 
in  maternal  anxiety  and  doubt  of  the  intruder's 
intentions.  The  calf  peered  between  the  rails 
in  mild  wonder  at  this  break  in  the  monotony. 
An  old  man  sat  motionless  on  the  fence,  with 
as  sober  and  business-like  an  aspect  as  if  he  did 
it  for  a  salary.  The  porch  was  occupied  by  an 
indiscriminate  collection  of  household  effects, 
—  cooking  utensils,  garments,  broken  chairs, 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  53 

—  and  an  untidy,  disheveled  woman.  An  old 
crone,  visible  within  the  door,  was  leisurely 
preparing  the  evening  meal.  Cynthia's  heart 
warmed  at  the  sight  of  the  familiar  place.  The 
tears  started  to  her  sympathetic  eyes.  "  I  hev 
kern  ter  tell  ye  all  'bout  'n  'Vander  !  "  she  cried 
impulsively,  when  she  was  welcomed  to  a  chair 
and  a  view  of  the  weed-grown  "  gyarden-spot." 

But  the  disclosure  of  her  scheme  did  not 
waken  responsive  enthusiasm.  The  old  man, 
still  dutifully  riding  the  fence,  conservatively 
declared  that  the  law  of  the  land  was  a  "mighty 
tetchy  contrivance,"  and  he  did  n't  feel  called  on 
to  meddle  with  it.  "  They  mought  jail  the  whole 
fambly,  ez  fur  ez  I  know,  an'  then  who  would 
work  the  gyarden-spot,  ez  air  thrivin'  now,  an* 
the  peas  f  ullin'  up  cornsider'ble  ?  " 

Mrs.  Price  had  "no  call  ter  holp  sot  the  law 
on  'Lijah  agin  'Vander's  word.  I  dunno  what 
the  folks  would  do  ter  'Lijah  ef  Jube  died, 
sence  he  hev  swore  ez  he  hev  done  afore  Squair 
Bates.  Some  tole  me  ez  'Lijah  air  purtected 
by  bein'  a  idjit  but  I  ain't  sati'fied  'bout  'n  that. 
'Lijah  war  sane  enough  ter  bo  toler'ble  skeered 
when  he  hearn  bout'n  it  all,  an'  hev  tuk  ter 
shettin'  hisself  up  in  the  shed-room  when  stran- 
gers kern  about."  And  indeed  Cynthia  had  an 
unpleasant  impression  that  the  idiot  was  look- 
ing out  suspiciously  at  her  from  a  crack  in  the 


54  IN   THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

door,  but  he  precipitately  slammed  it  when  she 
turned  her  head  to  make  sure.  The  old  crone 
paused  in  her  preparations  for  supper,  that  she 
might  apply  all  her  faculties  to  argument.  "  It 
don't  'pear  ter  reason  how  the  gov'nor  will  par- 
don 'Vander  fur  receivin'  of  stolen  goods  jes' 
ykase  't  war  n't  him  ez  bruk  Jube  Tynes's  head," 
she  declared.  "Vander  war  jailed  fur  receiving 
stolen  goods,  —  nobody  never  keered  nothin'  fur 
Jube  Tynes's  head !  I  hev  knowed  the  Tynes 
fambly  time  out  'n  mind,"  she  continued,  rais- 
ing her  voice  in  shrill  contempt.  "I  knowed 
Jubal  Tynes,  an'  his  daddy  afore  him.  An' 
now  ter  kem  talkin'  ter  me  'bout  the  gov'nor 
o'  Tennessee  keerin'  fur  Jube  Tynes's  nicked 
head.  /  don't  keer  nothin'  'bout  Jube  Tynes's 
nicked  head ;  an'  let  'em  tell  the  gov'nor  that 
fur  me,  an'  see  what  he  will  think  then !  " 

Poor  Cynthia  !  It  had  never  occurred  to  her 
to  account  herself  gifted  beyond  her  fellows 
and  her  opportunities.  The  simple  events  of 
their  primitive  lives  had  never  before  elicited 
the  contrast.  It  gave  her  no  satisfaction.  She 
only  experienced  a  vague,  miserable  wonder  that 
she  should  have  perceptions  beyond  their  range 
of  vision,  should  be  susceptible  of  emotions 
which  they  could  never  share.  She  realized 
that  she  could  get  no  material  aid  here,  and  she 
went  away  at  last  without  asking  for  it. 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  55 

Her  little  all  was  indeed  little,  —  a  few  chick- 
ens, some  "  spun-truck,"  a  sheep  that  she  had 
nursed  from  an  orphaned  lamb,  a  "cag  "  of  ap- 
ple-vinegar, and  a  bag  of  dried  fruit,  —  but  it 
had  its  value  to  the  mountain  lawyer  ;  and  when 
he  realized  that  this  was  indeed  "  all "  he  drew 
the  petition  in  consideration  thereof,  and  ap- 
pended the  affidavits  of  Jubal  Tynes  and  Dr. 
Fatten, 

"  She  ain't  got  a  red  head  on  her  for  nothin'," 
he  said  to  himself,  in  admiration  of  her  astute- 
ness in  insisting  that,  as  a  part  of  his  services, 
he  should  furnish  her  with  a  list  of  the  jury 
that  convicted  Evander  Price. 

"  For  every  man  of  'em  hev  got  ter  sot  his 
name  ter  that  thar  petition,"  she  averred. 

He  even  offered,  when  his  energy  and  inter- 
est were  aroused,  to  take  the  paper  with  him  to 
Sparta  when  he  next  attended  circuit  court. 
There,  he  promised,  he  would  secure  some  in- 
fluential signatures  from  the  members  of  the 
bar  and  other  prominent  citizens. 

When  she  was  fairly  gone  he  forgot  his  en- 
ergy and  interest.  He  kept  the  paper  three 
months.  He  did  not  once  offer  it  for  a  signa- 
ture. And  when  she  demanded  its  return,  it 
was  mislaid,  lost. 

Oratory  is  a  legal  requisite  in  that  region. 
He  might  have  taken  some  fine  points  from  her 


56  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

unconscious  eloquence,  inspired  by  love  and 
grief  and  despair,  her  scathing  arraignment  of 
his  selfish  neglect,  her  upbraidings  and  alternate 
appeals.  It  overwhelmed  him,  in  some  sort, 
and  yet  he  was  roused  into  activity  unusual 
enough  to  revive  the  lost  document.  She  went 
away  with  it,  leaving  him  in  rueful  meditation. 
"  She  hain't  got  a  red  head  on  her  for  nothin'," 
he  said,  remembering  her  pungent  rhetoric. 

But  as  he  glanced  out  of  the  door,  and  saw 
her  trudging  down  the  road,  all  her  grace  and 
pliant  swaying  languor  lost  in  convulsive,  awk- 
ward haste  and  a  feeble,  jerky  gait,  he  laughed. 

For  poor  Cynthia  had  become  in  some  sort  a 
grotesque  figure.  Only  Time  can  pose  a  crusa- 
der to  picturesque  advantage.  The  man  or 
woman  with  a  great  and  noble  purpose  carries 
about  with  it  a  pitiful  little  personality  that 
reflects  none  of  its  lustre.  Cynthia's  devotion, 
her  courage,  her  endurance  in  righting  this 
wrong,  were  not  so  readily  apparent  when,  in 
the  valley,  she  went  tramping  from  one  juror's 
house  to  another's  as  were  her  travel-stained  gar- 
ments, her  wild,  eager  eye,  her  incoherent,  anx- 
ious speech,  her  bare,  swollen  feet,  —  for  some- 
times she  was  fain  to  carry  her  coarse  shoes  in 
her  hands  for  relief  in  the  long  journeyings. 
Her  father  had  refused  to  aid  "  sech  a  fool  yer- 
rand,"  and  locked  up  his  mare  in  the  barn. 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  57 

Without  a  qualm,  he  had  beheld  Cynthia  set 
out  resolutely  on  foot.  "  She  '11  be  back  afore 
the  cows  kern  home,"  he  said,  with  a  laughing 
nod  at  his  wife.  But  they  came  lowing  home 
and  clanking  their  mellow  bells  in  many  and 
many  a  red  sunset  before  they  again  found  Cyn- 
thia waiting  for  them  on  the  banks  of  Lost 
Creek. 

The  descent  to  a  lower  level  was  a  painful 
experience  to  the  little  mountaineer.  She  was 
"  sifflicated  "  by  the  denser  atmosphere  of  the 
"  valley  country,"  and  exhausted  by  the  heat  \ 
but  when  she  could  think  only  of  her  mission 
she  was  hopeful,  elated,  and  joyously  kept  on 
her  thorny  way.  Sometimes,  however,  the  dogs 
barked  at  her,  and  the  children  hooted  afte* 
her,  and  the  men  and  women  she  met  looked 
askance  upon  her,  and  made  her  humbly  con- 
scious of  her  disheveled,  dusty  attire,  her  awk- 
ward, hobbling  gait,  her  lean,  hungry,  worn 
aspect.  Occasionally  they  asked  for  her  story,, 
and  listened  incredulously  and  with  sarcastic 
comments.  Once,  as  she  started  again  down 
the  road,  she  heard  her  late  interlocutor  call  out 
to  some  one  at  the  back  of  the  house,  "  Becky, 
take  them  clothes  in  off  'n  the  line,  an'  take 
'em  in  quick  !  " 

And  though  her  physical  sufferings  were 
great,  she  had  some  tears  to  shed  for  sorrow's 
sake. 


58  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Always  she  got  a  night's  lodging  at  the  house 
of  one  or  another  of  the  twelve  jurymen,  whose 
names  were  gradually  affixed  to  the  petition. 
But  they  too  had  questions  that  were  hard  to 
answer.  "  Are  you  kin  of  his  ?  "  they  would 
ask,  impressed  by  her  hardships  and  her  self- 
immolation.  And  when  she  would  answer, 
"  No,"  she  would  fancy  th^t  the  shelter  they 
gave  her  was  not  in  confidence,  but  for  mere 
humanity.  And  she  shrank  sensitively  from 
these  supposititious  suspicions.  They  were  poor 
men,  mostly,  but  one  of  them  stopped  his  plow- 
ing to  lend  her  his  horse  to  the  next  house,  and 
another  gave  her  a  lift  of  ten  miles  in  his  wagon, 
as  it  was  on  his  way.  He  it  was  who  told  her, 
in  rehearsing  the  country-side  gossip,  that  the 
governor  was  canvassing  the  State  for  reelec- 
tion, and  had  made  an  appointment  to  speak  at 
Sparta  the  following  day. 

A  new  idea  flashed  into  her  mind.  Her  sud- 
den resolution  fairly  frightened  her.  She  cow- 
ered before  it,  as  they  drove  along  between  the 
fields  of  yellowing  corn,  all  in  the  gairish  sun- 
shine, spreading  so  broadly  over  the  broad  plain. 
That  night  she  lay  awake  thinking  of  it,  while 
the  cold  drops  started  upon  her  brow.  Before 
daybreak  she  was  up  and  trudging  along  the 
road  to  Sparta.  It  was  still  early  when  she 
entered  the  little  town  of  the  mountain  bench, 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  59 

set  in  the  flickering  mists  and  chill,  matutinal 
sunshine,  and  encompassed  on  every  hand  by  the 
mighty  ranges.  A  flag  floated  from  the  roof  of 
the  court-house,  and  there  was  an  unusual  stir 
in  the  streets.  Excited  groups  were  talking  at 
every  corner,  and  among  a  knot  of  men,  stand- 
ing near,  one  riveted  her  attention.  He  had 
been  spoken  of  in  her  hearing  as  the  governor 
of  the  State.  Bold  with  the  realization  of  the 
opportunity,  she  pushed  through  the  staring 
crowd  and  thrust  the  much-thumbed  petition 
into  his  hand.  He  cast  a  surprised  glance  upon 
her,  then  looked  at  the  paper.  "  All  right ;  I  '11 
examine  it,"  he  said  hastily,  and  folding  it  he 
turned  away.  In  his  political  career  he  had 
studied  many  faces  ;  unconsciously  an  adept,  he 
may  have  deciphered  those  subtle  hieroglyphics 
of  character,  and  despite  her  ignorance,  her 
poverty,  and  the  low,  criminal  atmosphere  of 
her  mission,  read  in  her  eyes  the  dignity  of 
her  endeavor,  the  nobility  of  her  nature,  and 
the  prosaic  martyrdom  of  her  toilsome  experi- 
ence. He  turned  suddenly  back  to  reassure 
her.  "  Rely  on  it,"  he  said  heartily,  "  I  '11  do 
what  I  can." 

Her  pilgrimage  was  accomplished  ;  there  was 
nothing  more  but  to  turn  her  face  to  the  moun- 
tains. It  seemed  to  her  at  times  as  if  she  should 
never  reach  them.  They  were  weary  hours 


60  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

before  she  came  upon  Lost  Creek,  loitering 
down  the  sunlit  valley  to  vanish  in  the  grew- 
some  caverns  beneath  the  range.  The  su- 
mach leaves  were  crimsoning  along  its  banks. 
The  scarlet-oak  emblazoned  the  mountain  side. 
Above  the  encompassing  heights  the  sky  was 
blue,  and  the  mountain  air  tasted  like  wine. 
Never  a  crag  or  chasm  so  sombre  but  flaunted 
some  swaying  vine  or  long  tendriled  moss,  gilded 
and  gleaming  yellow.  Buckeyes  were  falling, 
and  the  ashy  "  Indian  pipes  "  silvered  the  roots 
of  the  trees.  In  every  marshy  spot  glowed 
the  scarlet  cardinal-flower,  and  the  goldenrod 
had  sceptred  the  season.  Now  and  again  the 
forest  quiet  was  broken  by  the  patter  of  acorns 
from  the  chestnut-oaks,  and  the  mountain  swine 
were  abroad  for  the  plenteous  mast.  Overhead 
she  heard  the  faint,  weird  cry  of  wild  geese 
winging  southward.  The  whole  aspect  of  the 
scene  was  changed,  save  only  Pine  Mountain. 
There  it  stood,  solemn,  majestic,  mysterious, 
masked  by  its  impenetrable  growth,  and  hung 
about  with  duskier  shadows  wherever  a  ravine 
indented  the  slope.  The  spirit  within  it  was 
chanting  softly,  softly.  For  the  moment  she 
felt  the  supreme  exaltation  of  the  mountains.  It 
lifted  her  heart.  And  when  a  sudden  fluctuating 
red  glare  shot  out  over  the  murky  shades,  and 
the  dull  sighing  of  the  bellows  reached  her  ear 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  61 

from  the  forge  on  the  mountain's  brink,  and  the 
air  was  presently  vibrating  with  the  clinking  of 
the  hand-hammer  and  the  clanking  of  the  sledge, 
and  the  crags  clamored  with  the  old  familiar 
echoes,  she  realized  that  she  had  done  all  she  had 
sought  to  do ;  that  she  had  gone  forth  helpless 
but  for  her  own  brave  spirit ;  that  she  had  re- 
turned helpful,  and  hopeful,  and  that  here  was 
her  home,  and  she  loved  it. 

This  enabled  her  to  better  endure  the  anger 
and  reproaches  of  her  relatives  and  the  curi- 
osity and  covert  suspicion  of  the  whole  country- 
side. 

Evander's  people  regarded  the  situation  with 
grave  misgivings.  "I  hope  ter  the  mercy-seat," 
quavered  old  man  Price,  "ez  Cynthy  Ware 
hain't  gone  an'  actially  sot  the  gov'nor  o'  Ten- 
nessee more  'n  ever  agin  that  pore  critter  ;  but 
I  misdoubts," —  he  shook  his  head  piteously,  as 
he  perched  on*the  fence,  —  "I  misdoubts." 

"  An'  the  insurance  o'  that  thar  gal !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Price.  "  She  never  had  no  call  ter  med- 
dle with  'Vander." 

Cynthia's  mother  entertained  this  view,  also, 
but  for  a  different  reason.  "  'T  war  no  consarn 
o'  Cynthy's,  nohow,"  she  said,  advising  with 
her  daughter  Maria.  "Cynthy  air  neither  kith 
nor  kin  o'  'Vander,  who  air  safer  an'  likelier  in 
the  pen'tiary  'n  ennywhar  else,  'kase  it  leaves 


62  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

her  no  ch'ice  but  Jeemes  Blake,  ez  she  hed  bet- 
ter take  whilst  he  air  in  the  mind  fur  it  an' 
whilst  she  kin  git  him." 

Jubal  Tynes  wished  he  could  have  foreseen 
that  she  would  meet  the  governor,  for  he  could 
have  told  her  exactly  what  to  say  ;  and  this,  he 
was  confident,  would  have  secured  the  pardon. 

And  it  was  clearly  the  opinion  of  the  "  moun- 
ting," expressed  in  the  choice  coteries  assem- 
bled at  the  mill,  the  blacksmith's  shop,  the  Set- 
^ment,  and  the  still-house,  that  a  "  young  gal 
like  Cynthy  "  had  transcended  all  the  bounds  of 
propriety  in  this  "  wild  junketing  after  gov- 
'nors  an'  sech  through  all  the  valley  country, 
whar  she  war  n't  knowed  from  a  gate-post,  nor 
her  dad  nuther." 

There  were,  however,  doubters,  who  dispar- 
aged the  whole  account  of  the  journey  as  a  fa- 
ble, and  circulated  a  whisper  that  the  petition 
had  never  been  presented. 

This  increased  to  open  incredulity  as  time 
wore  on,  to  ridicule,  to  taunts,  for  no  word 
came  of  the  petition  for  pardon  and  no  word 
of  the  prisoner. 

The  bleak  winter  wore  away  ;  spring  budded 
and  bloomed  into  summer  ;  summer  was  ripen- 
ing into  autumn,  and  every  day,  as  the  corn 
yellowed  and  thickly  swathed  ears  hung  far 
from  the  stalk,  and  the  drone  of  the  locust  was 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  63 

Joud  in  the  grass,  and  the  deep,  slumberous 
glow  of  the  sunshine  suffused  every  open  spot, 
Cynthia,  with  the  return  of  the  season,  was 
vividly  reminded  of  her  weary  ploddings,  with 
bleeding  feet  and  aching  head,  between  such 
fields  along  the  lengthening  valley  roads.  And 
the  physical  anguish  she  remembered  seemed 
light  —  seemed  naught  —  "to  the  anguish  of  sus- 
pense which  racked  her  now.  Sometimes  she 
felt  impelled  to  a  new  endeavor.  Then  her 
strong  common  sense  checked  the  useless  im- 
pulse. She  had  done  all  that  could  be  done. 
She  had  planted  the  seed.  She  had  worked 
and  watched,  and  beheld  it  spring  up  and  put 
forth  and  grow  into  fair  proportions  ;  only  time 
might  bring  its  full  fruition. 

The  autumn  was  waning ;  cold  rains  set  in, 
and  veined  the  rocky  chasms  with  alien  tor- 
rents; the  birds  had  all  flown,  when  suddenly 
the  Indian  summer,  with  its  golden  haze  and 
its  great  red  sun,  its  purple  distances  and  its 
languorous  joy,  its  balsamic  perfumes  and  its 
vagrant  day-dreams,  slipped  down  upon  the 
gorgeous  crimson  woods,  and  filled  them  with 
its  glamour  and  its  poetry. 

One  of  these  days  —  a  perfect  day  —  a  great 
sensation  pervaded  Pine  Mountain.  Word 
went  the  rounds  that  a  certain  notorious  horse 
thief,  who  had  served  out  his  term  in  the  peni- 


64  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

tentiary,  had  stopped  at  the  blacksmith  shop 
on  his  way  home,  glad  enough  of  the  prospect 
of  being  "there  once  more  ;  "  an'  ez  pious  in 
speech  ez  the  rider,  mighty  nigh,"  said  the 
dwellers  about  Pine  Mountain,  unfamiliar  with 
his  aspect  as  a  penitent  and  discounting  his  re- 
pentance. It  was  a  long  story  he  had  to  tell 
about  himself,  and  he  enjoyed  posing  as  the  cen- 
tral figure  in  the  curious  crowd  that  had  gath- 
ered about  him.  He  seemed  for  the  time  less 
like  a  criminal  than  a  great  traveler,  so  strange 
and  full  of  interest  to  the  simple  mountaineers 
were  his  experiences  and  the  places  he  had 
seen.  He  stood  leaning  against  the  anvil,  as  he 
talked,  looking  out  through  the  barn-like  door 
upon  the  amplitude  of  the  great  landscape  be- 
fore him  ;  its  mountains  so  dimly,  delicately 
blue  in  the  distance,  so  deeply  red  and  brown 
and  yellow  nearer  at  hand,  and  still  closer 
shaded  off  by  the  dark  plumy  boughs  of  the 
pines  on  either  side  of  the  ravine  above  which 
the  forge  was  perched.  Deep  in  the  valley,  be- 
tween them  all,  Lost  Creek  hied  along,  veining 
the  purple  haze  with  lines  of  palpitating  silver. 
It  was  only  when  the  material  for  personal  nar- 
ration was  quite  exhausted  that  he  entered, 
though  with  less  zest,  on  other  themes. 

"Waal,  —  now,  'Vander  Price,"  he  drawled, 
shifting  his  great  cowhide   boots   one    above 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  65 

another.  "  I  war  'stonished  when  I  hearn  ez 
'Vander  war  in  fur  receivin'  of  stolen  goods. 
Shucks!" — his  little  black  eyes  twinkled  be- 
neath the  drooping  brim  of  a  white  wool  hat, 
and  his  wide,  flat  face  seemed  wider  and  flatter 
for  a  contemptuous  grin,  —  "I  can't  ohderstand 
how  a  man  kin  git  his  own  cornsent  ter  go  corn- 
sortin'  with  them  ez  breaks  inter  stores  and 
dwellin's  an'  sech,  an'  hankerin'  arter  store-fix- 
in's  an'  store-truck.  Live-stock  air  a  differ.  The 
beastis  air  temptin',  partic'lar  ef  they  air  young 
an'  hev  got  toler'ble  paces."  Perhaps  a  change 
in  the  faces  of  his  audience  admonished  him,  for 
he  qualified  :  "  The  beastis  air  temptin'  —  ter 
the  ungodly.  I  hev  gin  over  sech  doin's  myself, 
'kase  we  hed  a  toler'ble  chaplain  yander  in  the 
valley  "  (he  alluded  thus  equivocally  to  his  late 
abode),  "  an'  I  sot  under  the  preachin'  a  good 
while.  But  store-truck  !  —  sJaucks  !  Waal,  the 
gyards  'lowed  ez  'Vander  war  a  turrible  feller 
ter  take  keer  on,  when  they  war  a-fetchin'  him 
down  ter  Nashvul.  He  jes'  seemed  desolated. 
One  minit  he  'd  fairly  cry  ez  ef  every  sob  would 
take  his  life  ;  an'  the  nex'  he  M  be  squarin'  off 
ez  savage,  an'  tryin'  ter  hit  the  gyards  in  the 
head.  He  war  ironed,  hand  an'  foot." 

There  was  no  murmur  of  sympathy.  All  lis- 
tened with  stolid  curiosity,  except  Cynthia,  who 
was  leaning  against  the  open  door.  The  tears 


\ 

66  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

forced  their  way,  and  silently  flowed,  unheeded, 
down  her  cheeks.  She  fixed  her  brown  eyes 
upon  the  man  as  he  went  on  :  — 

"  But  when  they  struck  the  railroad,  an'  the 
critter  seen  the  iron  engine  ez  runs  by  steam, 
like  I  war  a-tellin'  ye  about,  he  jes'  stood 
rooted  ter  the  spot  in  amaze  ;  they  could  sca'cely 
git  him  budged  away  from  thar.  They  'lowed 
they  hed  never  seen  sech  joy  ez  when  he  war 
travelin'  on  the  steam-kyars  ahint  it.  When 
they  went  a-skeetin'  along  ez  fast  an'  ez  steady 
ez  a  tur-r-key-buzzard  kin  fly,  'Vander  would 
jes'  look  fust  at  one  o'  the  gyards  an'  then  at 
the  t'other,  a-smilin'  an'  tickled  nearly  out  'n 
his  senses.  An'  wunst  he  said,  *  Ef  this  ain't 
the  glory  o'  God  revealed  in  the  work  o'  man, 
what  is  ? '  The  gyards  'lowed  he  acted  so  cu- 
r'ous  they  would  hev  b'lieved  he  war  a  plumb 
idjit,  ef  it  hed  n't  a-been  fur  what  happened  ar- 
terward  at  the  Pen." 

"  Waal,  what  war  it  ez  happened  at  the  Pen  ?  " 
demanded  Pete  Blenkins.  His  red  face,  suffused 
with  the  glow  of  the  smouldering  forge-fire,  was 
a  little  wistful,  as  if  he  grudged  his  quondam 
striker  these  unique  sensations. 

"  They  put  him  right  inter  the  forge  at  the 
Pen,  an'  he  tuk  ter  the  work  like  a  pig  ter  car- 
rots." The  ex-convict  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  cast  his  eye  disparagingly  about  the  primi- 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  67 

tive  smithy.  "  They  do  a  power  o'  work  thar, 
Pete,  ez  you-uns  never  drempt  of." 

"  Shucks  ! "  rejoined  Pete  incredulously,  yet 
a  trifle  ill  at  ease. 

"  'Vander  war  a  good  blacksmith  fur  the 
mountings,  but  they  sot  him  ter  1'arnin'  thar. 
They  'lowed,  though,  ez  he  war  pearter  'n  the 
peartest.  He  got  ter  be  powerful  pop'lar  with 
all  the  gyards  an'  authorities,  an'  sech.  He  war 
plumb  welded  ter  his  work  —  he  sets  more  store, 
by  metal  than  by  grace.  Pie  'lowed  ter  me  ez 
he  wouldn't  hev  missed  bein'  thar  fur  nuth- 
in' !  'Vander  air  a  powerful  cur'ous  critter :  he 
'lowed  ter  me  ez  one  year  in  the  forge  at  the 
Pen  war  wuth  a  hundred  years  in  the  mount- 
ings ter  him." 

Poor  Cynthia!  Her  eyes,  large,  luminous, 
and  sweet,  with  the  holy  rapture  of  a  listening 
saint,  were  fixed  upon  the  speaker's  evil,  uncouth 
face.  Evander  had  not  then  been  so  unhappy  ! 

"  But  when  they  hired  out  the  convict  labor 
ter  some  iron  works'  folks,  'Vander  war  glad  ter 
go,  'kase  he  *d  git  ter  1'arn  more  yit  'bout  work- 
in'  in  iron  an'  sech.  An'  he  war  powerful  outed 
when  he  hed  ter  kem  back,  arter  ten  months, 
from  them  works.  He  hed  tuk  his  stand  in 
metal  thar,  too.  An'  he  hed  fixed  some  sort  'n 
contrivance  ter  head  rivets  quicker  'n  cheaper  'n 
it  air  ginerally  done ;  an'  he  war  af eard  ter  try 


68  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

ter  git  it  '  patented,'  ez  lie  calls  it,  'kase  he 
b'lieved  the  Pen  could  claim  it  ez  convict  labor, 
^—  though  some  said  not.  Leastwise,  he  deter- 
minated ter  hold  on  ter  his  idee  till  his  term 
war  out.  But  he  war  powerful  interrupted  in 
his  mind  fur  fear  somebody  else  would  think  up 
the  idee,  too,  an'  patent  it  fust.  He  war  pow- 
erful irked  by  the  Pen  arter  he  kem  back  from 
the  iron  works.  He  'lowed  ter  me  ez  he  war 
Hfeirly  crazed  ter  git  back  ter  'em.  He  'lowed 
ez  he  hed  ruther  see  that  thai-  big  shed  an'  the 
red  hot  puddler's  balls  a-trundlin'  about,  an'  all 
the  wheels  a-whurlin',  an'  the  big  shears  a-bitin' 
the  metal  ez  nip,  an'  the  tremenjious  hammer 
a-poundin'  away,  an'  all  the  dark  night  around 
split  with  lines  o'  fire,  than  to  see  the  hills  o' 
heaven  !  It  'pears  to  me  mo'  like  hell !  But 
jes'  when  'Vander  war  honing  arter  them  works 
ez  ef  it  would  kill  him  ter  bide  away  from  thar, 
his  pardon  kem.  He  fairly  lept  a™'  shouted  fur 

joy'". 

"  His  pardon  !  "  cried  Cynthia. 

"  Air  'Vander  pardoned  fur  true?"  exclaimed 
a  chorus  of  mountaineers. 

The  ex-convict  stared  about  him  in  surprise. 
"  Ain't  you-uns  knowed  that  afore  ?  'Vander 
hev  been  out  'n  the  Pen  a  year." 

A  year !  A  vague,  chilly  premonition  thrilled 
through  Cynthia.  "  Whar  be  he  now  ?  "  she 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  69 

"  Yander  ter  them  iron  works.  He  lit  out 
straight.  I  seen  him  las'  week,  when  I  war 
travelin'  from  my  cousin  Jerry's  house,  whar  I 
went  ez  soon  ez  I  got  out  'n  the  Pen.  The 
steam  -  kyars  stopped  at  a  station  ez  be  nigh 
them  iron  works,  an'  I  met  up  with  'Vander  on 
the  platform.  That  's  how  I  fund  out  all  I  hev 
been  a-tellin'  ye,  'kase  we  did  n't  hey  no  time 
ter  talk  whilst  we  war  in  the  Pen  ;  they  don't 
allow  no  chin  -  choppin'  thar.  When  'Vander 
war  released,  the  folks  at  the  iron  works  tuk 
him  ter  work  on  weges,  an'  gin  him  eighty  dol- 
lars a  month." 

There  was  an  outburst  of  incredulity.  "Waal, 
sir  I  "  "  Tim'thy,  ye  kerry  that  mouth  o'  yourn 
too  wide  open,  an'  it  leaks  out  all  sorts  o'  lies ! " 
"  We-uns  know  ye  of  old,  Tim'thy  !  "  "  Pine 
Mounting  haint  f  urgot  ye  yit !  " 

"  I  would  n't  gin  eighty  dollars  fur  'Vander 
Price,  hide,  horns,  an'  tallow ! "  declared  Pete 
Blenkins,  folding  his  big  arms  over  his  leathern 
apron,  and  looking  about  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  has  placed  his  valuation  at  extremely  lib- 
eral limits. 

" 1.  knowed  ye  would  n't  b'lieve  that,  but 
it  air  gospel-true,"  protested  the  ex-convict. 
"  Thar  is  more  money  a-goin'  in  the  valley  'n 
thar  is  in  the  mountings,  an'  folks  pays  more 
fur  work.  Besides  that,  'Vander  hev  got  a  pa- 


TO  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

tent,  ez  he  calls  it,  fur  his  rivet  contrivance,  an' 
he  'lows  ez  it  hev  paid  him  some  a'ready.  It  '11 
sorter  stiffen  up  the  backbone  o'  that  word  ef 
I  tell  ye  ez  he  'lowed  ez  he  hed  jes'  sent  two 
hunderd  dollars  ter  Squair  Bates  ter  lift  the 
mortgage  off  'n  old  man  Price's  house  an'  land, 
an'  two  hunderd  dollars  more  ter  be  gin  ter 
his  dad  ez  a  present.  An'  Squair  Bates  acted 
'cordin'  ter  'Vander's  word,  an'  lifted  the  mort- 
gage, an'  handed  old  man  Price  the  balance. 
An'  what  do  ye  s'pose  old  man  Price  done  with 
the  money  ?  He  went  right  out  an'  buried  it 
in  the  woods,  fur  fear  he'd  be  pulled  out  'n  his 
bed  fur  it,  some  dark  night,  by  lawless  ones. 
He  '11  never  find  it  agin,  I  reckon.  The  idjit 
hed  more  sense.  I  seen  'Lijah  diggin'  fur  it,  ez 
I  rid  by  thar  ter-day." 

"  Did  'Vander  'low  when  he  air  comin'  back 
ter  Pine  Mounting?"  asked  Pete  Blenkins. 
"  He  hev  been  gone  two  year  an'  a  half  now." 

"I  axed  him  that  word.  An'  he  said  he 
mought  kem  back  ter  see  his  folks  nex'  year, 
mebbe,  or  the  year  arter  that.  But  I  mis- 
doubts. He  air  so  powerful  tuk  up  with  metal 
an'  iron,  an'  sech,  an'  so  keen  'bout  his  'ven- 
tions,  ez  he  calls  'em,  ez  he  seemed  mighty 
glad  ter  git  shet  o'  the  mountings.  'Vander 
'lows  ez  you-uns  dunno  nothin'  'bout  iron  up 
hyar,  Pete." 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  71 

It  was  too  plain.  Cynthia  could  not  deceive 
herself.  He  had  forgotten  her.  His  genius, 
once  fairly  evoked,  possessed  him,  and  faith- 
fully his  ambitions  served  it.  His  love,  in  com- 
parison, was  but  a  little  thing,  and  he  left  it  in 
the  mountains,  —  the  mountains  that  he  did 
not  regret,  that  had  barred  him  so  long  from 
all  he  valued,  that  had  freed  him  at  last  only 
through  the  prison  doors.  His  love  had  been 
an  unavowed  love,  and  there  was  no  duty 
broken.  For  the  first  time  she  wondered  if 
he  ever  knew  that  she  cared  for  him,  —  if  he 
never  remembered.  And  then  she  was  sud- 
denly moved  to  ask,  "  Did  he  'low  ter  you-uns 
who  got  his  pardon  fur  him  ?  " 

"  I  axed  that  word  when  las'  I  seen  him,  an' 
the  critter  said  he  actially  hed  never  tuk  time 
ter  think  'bout  'n  that.  He  'lowed  he  war  so 
tickled  ter  git  away  from  the  Pen'tiary  right 
straight  ter  the  iron  works  an'  the  consarn  he 
hed  made  ter  head  rivets  so  peart,  ez  he  never 
wondered  'bout  'n  it.  He  made  sure,  though, 
now  he  had  kem  ter  study  'bout  'n  it,  ez  his  dad 
hed  done  it,  or  it  mought  hev  been  gin  him  fur 
good  conduc'  an'  sech." 

44  'T  war  Cynthy  hyar  ez  done  some  of  it," 
explained  Pete  Blenkins, "  though  Jubal  Tynes 
stirred  himself  right  smart." 

As  Cynthia  walked  slowly  back  to  her  home 


72  IN  THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

in  the  gorge,  she  did  not  feel  that  she  had  lav- 
ished a  noble  exaltation  and  a  fine  courage  in 
vain  ;  that  the  subtlest  essence  of  a  most  ethe- 
real elation  was  expended  as  the  motive  power 
of  a  result  that  was  at  last  flat,  and  sordid,  and 
most  material.  She  did  not  murmur  at  the  cru- 
elty of  fate  that  she  should  be  grieving  for  his 
woes  while  he  was  so  happy,  so  blithely  busy. 
She  did  not  regret  her  self-immolation.  She 
did  not  grudge  all  that  love  had  given  him  ; 
she  rejoiced  that  it  was  so  sufficient,  so  nobly 
ample.  She  grudged  only  the  wasted  feeling, 
and  she  was  humbled  when  she  thought  of  it. 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  but  the  light  yet 
lingered.  The  evening  star  trembled  above 
Pine  Mountain.  Massive  and  darkling  it  stood 
against  the  red  west.  How  far,  ah,  how  far, 
stretched  that  mellow  crimson  glow,  all  adown 
Lost  Creek  Valley,  and  over  the  vast  mountain 
solitudes  on  either  hand !  Even  the  eastern 
ranges  were  rich  with  this  legacy  of  the  dead 
and  gone  day,  and  purple  and  splendid  they 
lay  beneath  the  rising  moon.  She  looked  at  it 
with  full  and  shining  eyes. 

44 1  dunno  how  he  kin  make  out  ter  furgit 
the  mountings,"  she  said  ;  and  then  she  went 
on,  hearing  the  crisp  leaves  rustling  beneath 
her  tread,  and  the  sharp  bark  of  a  fox  in  the 
silence  of  the  night-shadowed  valley. 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  73 

Mrs.  Ware  had  predicted  bitter  things  of 
Cynthia's  future,  more  perhaps  in  anger  than 
with  discreet  foresight.  Now,  when  her  proph- 
ecy was  in  some  sort  verified,  she  shrank  from 
it,  as  if  with  the  word  she  had  conjured  up  the 
fact.  And  her  pride  was  touched  in  that  her 
daughter  should  have  been  given  the  "  go-by," 
as  she  phrased  it.  All  the  mountain  —  nay, 
all  the  valley  —  would  know  of  it.  "  Law, 
Cynthy,"  she  exclaimed,  aghast,  when  the  girl 
had  rehearsed  the  news,  "  what  be  ye  a-goin' 
ter  do  ?  " 

"I'm  a-goin'  ter  weavin',"  said  Cynthia. 
She  already  had  the  shuttle  in  her  hand.  It 
was  a  useful  expression  for  a  broken  heart,  as 
she  was  expert  at  the  loom. 

She  became  so  very  skillful,  with  practice,  that 
it  was  generally  understood  to  be  mere  pastime 
when  she  would  go  to  help  a  neighbor  through 
the  weaving  of  the  cloth  for  the  children's 
clothes.  She  went  about  much  on  this  mission ; 
for  although  there  were  children  at  home,  the 
work  was  less  than  the  industry,  and  she  seemed 
"  ter  hev  a  craze  fur  stirrin'  about,  an'  war  a 
toler'ble  oneasy  critter."  She  was  said  to  have 
"  broken  some  sence  'Vander  gin  her  the  go-by, 
like  he  done,"  and  was  spoken  of  at  the  age  of 
twenty-one  as  a  "  settled  single  woman ;  "  for 
early  marriages  are  the  rule  in  the  mountains. 


74  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

When  first  her  father  and  then  her  mother  died, 
she  cared  for  all  the  household,  and  the  world 
went  on  much  the  same.  The  monotony  of  her 
tragedy  made  it  unobtrusive.  Perhaps  no  one 
on  Pine  Mountain  remembered  aright  how  it 
had  all  come  about,  when  after  an  absence  of 
ten  years  Evander  Price  suddenly  reappeared 
among  them. 

Old  man  Price  had,  in  the  course  of  nature, 
ceased  to  sit  upon  the  fence,  —  he  could  hardly 
be  said  to  have  lived.  The  fence  itself  was  de- 
crepit ;  the  house  was  falling  to  decay.  The 
money  which  Evander  had  sent  from  time  to 
time,  that  it  might  be  kept  comfortable,  had 
been  safely  buried  in  various  localities  and  in 
separate  installments,  as  the  remittances  had 
come.  To  this  day  the  youth  of  Pine  Moun- 
tain, when  afflicted  with  spasms  of  industry 
and,  as  unaccustomed,  the  lust  for  gold,  dig 
for  it  in  likely  spots  as  unavailingly  as  the  idiot 
once  sought  it.  Evander  took  the  family  with 
him  to  his  valley  home,  and  left  the  little  hut 
for  the  owl  and  the  gopher  to  hide  within,  for 
the  red-berried  vines  to  twine  about  the  rot- 
ting logs,  for  the  porch  to  fall  in  the  wind,  for 
silence  to  enter  therein  and  make  it  a  dwelling- 
place. 

"  How  will  yer  wife  like  ter  put  up  with  the 
idjit  ?  "  asked  Pete  Blenkins  of  his  old  striker. 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  75 

"  She  '11  be  olleeged  ter  like  it ! "  retorted 
Evander,  with  an  angry  flash  in  his  eyes,  pre- 
saging contest. 

It  revealed  the  one  dark  point  in  his  pros- 
pects. The  mountaineers  were  not  so  slow- 
witted  as  to  overlook  it,  but  Evander  had  come 
to  be  the  sort  of  man  whom  one  hardly  likes  to 
question.  He  had  a  traveling  companion,  how- 
ever, who  hailed  from  the  same  neighborhood, 
and  who  talked  learnedly  of  coal  measures,  and 
prodded  and  digged  and  bought  leagues  of  land 
for  a  song,  —  much  of  it  dearly  bought.  He  let 
fall  a  hint  that  in  marrying,  Evander  had  con- 
trived to  handicap  himself.  "  He  would  do 
wonders  but  for  that  woman  !  " 

His  mountain  auditors  could  hardly  grasp  the 
finer  points  of  the  incompatibility ;  they  could 
but  dimly  appreciate  that  the  kindling  scintilla 
of  a  discovery  in  mechanics,  more  delicately 
poised  on  practicability  than  a  sunbeam  on  a 
cobweb,  could  have  a  tragic  extinction  in  a  wo- 
man's inopportune  peevishness  or  selfish  exac- 
tions. 

In  Evander's  admiration  of  knowledge  and 
all  its  infinite  radiations,  he  had  been  attracted 
by  a  woman  far  superior  to  himself  in  education 
and  social  position,  although  not  in  this  world's 
goods.  She  was  the  telegraph  operator  at  the 
station  near  the  iron  works.  She  had  felt  that 


76    ,        IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

there  was  a  touch  of  romance  and  self-abnega- 
tion in  her  fancy  for  him,  and  this  titillated  her 
more  tutored  imagination.  His  genius  was  held 
in  high  repute  at  the  iron  works,  and  she  had 
believed  him  a  rough  diamond.  She  did  not 
realize  how  she  could  have  appreciated  polished 
facets  and  a  brilliant  lustre  and  a  conventional 
setting  until  it  was  too  late.  Then  she  began 
to  think  this  genius  of  hers  uncouth,  and  she 
presently  doubted  if  her  jewel  were  genuine. 
For  although  of  refined  instincts,  he  had  been 
rudely  reared,  while  she  was  in  some  sort  inured 
to  table  manners  and  toilet  etiquette  and  Eng- 
lish grammar.  She  could  not  be  content  with 
his  intrinsic  worth,  but  longed  for  him  to  prove 
his  value  to  the  world,  that  it  might  not  think 
she  had  thrown  herself  away.  In  moments  of 
disappointment  and  depression  his  prison  record 
bore  heavily  upon  her,  and  there  was  a  breach 
when,  in  petulance,  she  had  once  asked,  If  he 
were  indeed  innocent  in  receiving  the  stolen 
goods,  why  had  he  not  proved  it?  And  she 
urged  him  to  much  striving  to  be  rich ;  and  she 
would  fain  travel  the  old  beaten  road  to  wealth 
in  the  iron  business,  and  scorned  experiments 
and  new  ideas  and  inventions,  that  took  money 
out  without  the  certainty  of  putting  it  in.  And 
she  had  been  taught,  and  was  an  adept  in  spe- 
cious argument.  He  could  not  answer  her  ;  he 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  77 

could  only  keep  doggedly  on  his  own  way ;  but 
obstinacy  is  a  poor  substitute  for  ardor.  Though 
he  had  done  much,  he  had  done  less  than  he 
had  expected,  —  far,  far  less  in  financial  results 
than  she  had  expected.  His  ambitions  were 
still  hot  within  him,  but  they  were  worldly  am- 
bitions now.  They  scorched  his  more  delicate 
sensibilities,  and  seared  his  freshest  perceptions, 
and  set  his  heart  afire  with  sordid  hopes.  He 
was  often  harassed  by  a  lurking  doubt  of  his 
powers ;  he  vaguely  sought  to  measure  them ; 
and  he  began  to  fear  that  this  in  itself  was  a 
sign  of  the  approach  to  their  limits.  He  could 
still  lift  his  eyes  to  great  heights,  but  alas  for 
the  wings,  —  alas  ! 

He  had  changed  greatly :  he  had  become  ner- 
vous, anxious,  concentrated,  yet  not  less  affec- 
tionate. He  said  much  about  his  wife  to  his 
old  friends,  and  never  a  word  but  loyal  praise. 
"  Em'ly  air  school-Famed  fur  true,  an'  kin  talk 
ekal  ter  the  rider." 

The  idiot  'Lijah  was  welcome  at  his  side,  and 
the  ancient  yellow  cur,  that  used  to  trot  nimbly 
after  him  in  the  old  days,  rejoiced  to  limp  fee- 
bly at  his  heels.  He  came  over,  one  morning, 
and  sat  on  the  rickety  little  porch  with  Cyn- 
thia, and  talked  of  her  father  and  mother ;  but 
he  had  forgotten  the  mare,  whose  death  she 
also  mentioned,  and  the  fact  that  old  Suke's 


78  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

third  calf  was  traded  to  M'ria  Baker.  His  rec- 
ollections were  all  vague,  although  at  some  rem- 
iniscence of  hers  he  laughed  jovially,  and  'lowed 
that  "  in  them  days,  Cynthy,  ye  an'  me  hed 
a  right  smart  notion  of  keeping  company  ter- 
gether."  He  did  not  notice  how  pale  she  was, 
and  that  there  was  often  a  slight  spasmodic 
contraction  of  her  features.  She  was  busy 
with  her  spinning-wheel,  as  she  placidly  replied, 
"  Yes,  —  though  I  always  'lowed  ez  I  counted 
on  livin'  single." 

It  was  only  a  fragmentary  attention  that  he 
accorded  her.  He  was  full  of  his  plans  and  anx- 
ious about  rains,  lest  a  rise  in  Caney  Fork 
should  detain  him  in  the  mountains  ;  and  he  often 
turned  and  surveyed  the  vast  landscape  with  a 
hard,  callous  glance  of  worldly  utility.  He  saw 
only  weather  signs.  The  language  of  the  moun- 
tains had  become  a  dead  language.  Oh,  how 
should  he  read  the  poem  that  the  opalescent  mist 
traced  in  an  illuminated  text  along  the  dark, 
gigantic  growths  of  Pine  Mountain ! 

At  length  he  was  gone,  and  forever,  and  Cyn- 
thia's heart  adjusted  itself  anew.  Sometimes, 
to  be  sure,  it  seems  to  her  that  the  years  of  her 
life  are  like  the  floating  leaves  drifting  down 
Lost  Creek,  valueless  and  purposeless,  and 
vaguely  vanishing  in  the  mountains.  Then  she 
remembers  that  the  sequestered  subterranean 


DRIFTING  DOWN  LOST  CREEK.  79 

current  is  charged  with  its  own  inscrutable,  im- 
perative mission,  and  she  ceases  to  question  and 
regret,  and  bravely  does  the  work  nearest  her 
hand,  and  has  glimpses  of  its  influence  in  the 
widening  lives  of  others,  and  finds  in  these  a 
placid  content. 


A-PLAYIN'  OF  OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE 
SETTLEMINT. 


"I  HEV  hearn  tell  ez  how  them  thar  boys 
rides  thar  horses  over  hyar  ter  the  Settlemint 
nigh  on  ter  every  night  in  the  week  ter  play 
kyerds,  —  *  Old  Sledge '  they  calls  it ;  an'  thar 
goin's-on  air  jes'  scandalous,  — jes'  a-drinkin'  of 
apple-jack,  an'  a-bettin'  of  thar  money." 

It  was  a  lonely  place :  a  sheer  precipice  on 
one  side  of  the  road  that  curved  to  its  verge ; 
on  the  other,  an  ascent  so  abrupt  that  the  tall 
stems  of  the  pines  seemed  laid  upon  the  ground 
as  they  were  marshaled  in  serried  columns  up 
the  slope.  No  broad  landscape  was  to  be  seen 
from  this  great  projecting  ledge  of  the  moun- 
tain ;  the  valley  was  merely  a  little  basin, 
walled  in  on  every  side  by  the  meeting  ranges 
that  rose  so  high  as  to  intercept  all  distant  pros- 
pect, and  narrow  the  world  to  the  contracted 
area  bounded  by  the  sharp  lines  of  their  wooded 
summits,  cut  hard  and  clear  against  the  blue 
sky.  But  for  the  road,  it  would  have  seemed 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.          81 

impossible  that  these  wild  steeps  should  be  the 
chosen  haunt  of  aught  save  deer,  or  bear,  or 
fox;  and  certainly  the  instinct  of  the  eagle  built 
that  eyrie  called  the  Settlement,  still  higher, 
far  above  the  towering  pine  forest.  It  might 
be  accounted  a  tribute  to  the  enterprise  of  Old 
Sledge  that  mountain  barriers  proved  neither  let 
nor  hindrance,  and  here  in  the  fastnesses  was 
held  that  vivacious  sway,  potent  alike  to  fasci- 
nate and  to  scandalize. 

In  the  middle  of  the  stony  road  stood  a  group 
of  roughly  clad  mountaineers,  each  in  an  atti- 
tude of  sluggish  disinclination  to  the  allotted 
task  of  mending  the  highway,  leaning  lazily 
upon  a  grubbing-hoe  or  sorry  spade,  —  except, 
indeed,  the  overseer,  who  was  upheld  by  the 
single  crowbar  furnished  by  the  county,  the  only 
sound  implement  in  use  among  the  party. 
The  provident  dispensation  of  the  law,  leaving 
the  care  of  the  road  to  the  tender  mercies  of  its 
able-bodied  neighbors  over  eighteen  and  under 
forty-five  years  of  age,  was  a  godsend  to  the  Set- 
tlement and  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  tributary 
region,  in  that  even  if  it  failed  of  the  immediate 
design  of  securing  a  tolerable  passway  through 
the  woods,  it  served  the  far  more  important 
purpose  of  drawing  together  the  diversely  scat- 
tered settlers,  and  affording  them  unwonted 
conversational  facilities.  These  meetings  were 


82  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

well  attended,  although  their  results  were  often 
sadly  inadequate.  To-day  the  usual  comple- 
ment of  laborers  was  on  hand,  except  the  three 
boys  whose  scandalous  susceptibility  to  the  min- 
gled charms  of  Old  Sledge  and  apple-jack  had 
occasioned  comment. 

"  They  '11  hev  ter  be  fined,  ef  they  don't  take 
keer  an'  come  an'  work,"  remarked  the  overseer 
of  the  road,  one  Tobe  Rains,  who  reveled  in  a 
little  brief  authority. 

"  From  what  I  hev  hearn  tell  'bout  thar  go- 
in's-on,  none  of  'em  is  a-goin'  ter  hev  nuthin' 
ter  pay  fines  with,  when  they  gits  done  with 
thar  foolin'  an'  sech,"  said  Abner  Blake,  a  man 
of  weight  and  importance,  and  the  eldest  of  the 
party. 

It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  any  of  the  group 
that  the  losses  among  the  three  card-players 
served  to  enrich  one  of  the  number,  and  that 
the  deplorable  wholesale  insolvency  shadowed 
forth  was  not  likely  to  ensue  in  substance.  Per- 
haps their  fatuity  in  this  regard  arose  from  the 
fact  that  fining  the  derelict  was  not  an  actual- 
ity, although  sometimes  of  avail  as  a  threat. 

"An'  we  hev  ter  leave  every  think  whar  it 
fell  down,  an'  come  hyar  ter  do  thar  work  fur 
'em,  —  a-fixin'  up  of  this  hyar  road  fur  them  ter 
travel,"  exclaimed  Tobe  Rains,  attempting  to 
chafe  himself  into  a  rage.  "  It 's  got  ter  quit, 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT   THE  SET  TL  EM  INT  83 

—  that 's  what  I  say ;  this  hyar  way  of  doin' 
hev  got  ter  quit."  By  way  of  lending  veri- 
similitude to  the  industrial  figure  of  rhetoric, 
he  lifted  his  hammer  and  dealt  an  ineffectual 
blow  at  a  large  bowlder.  Then  he  picked  up  his 
crowbar,  and,  leaning  heavily  on  the  implement, 
resigned  himself  to  the  piquant  interest  of  gos- 
sip. "  An'  thar  's  that  Josiah  Tait,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  a  settled  married  man,  a-behavin'  no  bet- 
ter 'n  them  fool  boys.  He  hain't  struck  a  lick 
of  work  fur  nigh  on  ter  a  month,  —  'ceptin' 
a-goin'  huntin'  with  the  t'others,  every  wunst 
in  a  while.  He  hev  jes'  pulled  through  at  the 
little  eend  of  the  horn.  I  never  sot  much  store 
by  him,  nohow,  though  when  he  war  married 
ter  Melindy  Price,  nigh  'bout  a  year  ago,  the 
folks  all  'lowed  ez  she  war  a-doin'  mighty  well 
ter  git  him,  ez  he  war  toler'ble  well  off  through 
his  folks  all  bein'  dead  but  him,  an'  he  bed 
what  he  hed  his  own  self." 

"  I  would  n't  let  my  darter  marry  no  man  ez 
plays  kyerds,"  said  a  very  young  fellow,  with 
great  decision  of  manner,  "  no  matter  what  he 
hed,  nor  how  he  hed  it." 

As  the  lady  referred  to  was  only  two  weeks 
old,  and  this  solicitude  concerning  her  matri- 
monial disposition  was  somewhat  premature, 
there  was  a  good-natured  guffaw  at  the  young 
fellow's  expense. 


84  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

"  An'  now,"  Tobe  Rains  resumed,  "  ef  Josiah 
keeps  on  the  way  ez  he  hev  started,  he  hain't 
a-goin'  ter  hev  no  more  'n  the  t'other  boys  round 
the  mounting,  —  mebbe  not  ez  much,  —  an' 
Melindy  Price  hed  better  hev  a-tuken  some- 
body what  owned  less  but  hed  a  harder  grip." 

A  long  silence  fell  upon  the  party.  Three 
of  the  twenty  men  assembled,  in  dearth  of  any- 
thing else  to  do,  took  heart  of  grace  and  fell  to 
work ;  fifteen  leaned  upon  their  hoes  in  a  vari- 
ety of  postures,  all  equally  expressive  of  sloth, 
and  with  slow  eyes  followed  the  graceful  sweep 
of  a  hawk,  drifting  on  the  wind,  without  a  mo- 
tion of  its  wings,  across  the  blue  sky  to  the  op- 
posite range.  Two,  one  of  whom  was  the  over- 
seer, searched  their  pockets  for  a  plug  of  to- 
bacco, and  when  it  was  found  its  possessor  gave 
to  him  that  lacked.  At  length,  Abner  Blake, 
who  furnished  all  the  items  of  news,  and  led 
th6  conversation,  removed  his  eyes  from  the 
flight  of  the  hawk,  as  the  bird  was  absorbed  in 
the  variegated  October  foliage  of  the  opposite 
mountain,  and  reopened  the  discussion.  At  the 
first  word  the  three  who  were  working  paused 
in  attentive  quietude ;  the  fifteen  changed  their 
position  to  one  still  more  restful ;  the  overseer 
sat  down  on  a  bowlder  by  the  roadside,  and 
placed  his  contemplative  elbows  on  his  knees 
and  his  chin  in  his  hands. 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.    85 

44  I  hev  hearn  tell,"  said  Abner  Blake,  with 
the  pleasing  consciousness  of  absorbing  the  at- 
tention of  the  company,  and  being  able  to  meet 
high  expectations,  "  ez  how  Josiah  hev  los'  that 
thar  brindled  heifer  ter  Budd  Wray,  an'  the 
main  heft  of  his  crap  of  corn.  But  mebbe  he  '11 
take  a  turn  now  an'  win  'em  back  agin." 

"  'T  ain't  likely,"  remarked  Tobe  Rains. 

44  No,  't  ain't,"  coincided  the  virtuous  fifteen. 

The  industrious  three,  who  might  have  done 
better  in  better  company,  went  to  work  again 
for  the  space  of  a  few  minutes ;  but  the  next  in- 
articulate gurgle,  preliminary  always  to  Blake's 
speech,  —  a  sort  of  rising-bell  to  ring  up  som- 
nolent attention,  —  brought  them  once  more  to 
a  stand-still. 

44  An'  cornsiderin'  ez  how  Budd  Wray,  —  he 
it  war  ez  won  'em ;  I  seen  the  heifer  along  o'  the 
cow  ter  his  house  yestiddy  evenin',  ez  I  war 
a-comin'  from  a-huntin'  yander  ter  the  sulphur 
spring,  —  an'  cornsiderin'  ez  he  is  nuthin'  but 
a  single  man,  an'  hain't  got  no  wife,  it  do  look 
mighty  graspin'  ter  be  a-takin'  from  a  man  ez 
hev  got  a  wife  an'  a  houseful  of  his  wife's  kins- 
folks ter  look  arter.  Mighty  graspin',  it  'pears 
like  ter  me." 

44 1  s'pose,"  said  one  of  the  three  workers  sug- 
gestively, —  u  I  s'pose  ez  how  Budd  won  it  fair. 
'T  warn't  no  onderhand  job,  war  it  ?  " 


86  IN   THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

There  was  a  portentous  silence.  The  flight 
of  the  hawk,  again  floating  above  the  moun- 
tains, now  in  the  shadow  of  the  resting  clouds, 
now  in  the  still  sunshine,  was  the  only  motion 
in  the  landscape.  The  sudden  bark  of  a  fox  in 
the  woods  near  at  hand  smote  the  air  shrilly. 

"  That  thar  ain't  fur  me  ter  say,"  Blake  re- 
plied at  last,  with  significant  emphasis. 

The  suspicion  fell  upon  the  party  like  a  reve- 
lation, with  an  auxiliary  sense  of  surprise  that 
it  had  not  been  earlier  presented,  so  patent 
was  the  possibility. 

Still  that  instinct  of  justice  latent  in  the  hu- 
man heart  kept  the  pause  unbroken  for  a  while. 
Then  Blake,  whose  information  on  most  points 
at  issue  entitled  him  to  special  consideration, 
proceeded  to  give  his  opinion  on  the  subject: 
"  I  'm  a  perfessin'  member  of  the  church,  an'  I 
dunno  one  o'  them  thar  kyerds  from  the  t'other; 
an'  what  is  more,  I  ain't  a-wantin'  ter  know.  I 
hev  seen  'em  a-playin'  wunst,  .an'  I  hearn  'em 
a-talkin'  that  thar  foolishness  'bout  'n  4  high ' 
an'  '  low,'  an'  sech,  —  they  '11  all  be  low  enough 
'fore  long.  But  what  I  say  is,  I  dunno  how 
come  Josiah  Tait,  what 's  always  been  a  peart, 
smart  boy,  an'  his  dad  afore  him  always  war 
a  thrivin'  man,  an'  Budd  Wray  war  never 
nobody  nor  nuthin',  —  he  war  always  mighty 
no-'count,  him  an'  all  his  folks,  —  an'  what  I 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.    87 

dunno  is,  how  come  he  kin  git  the  upper  hand 
of  Josiah  Tait  at  these  hyar  kyerds,  an'  can't 
git  it  no  other  way.  Ef  he  keeps  on  a-playin' 
of  Old  Sledge  hyar  at  the  Settlemint,  he  '11  be 
wuth  ez  much  ez  anybody  on  the  mounting 
what 's  done  been  a-workin'  all  thar  days,  an' 
hed  a  toler'ble  start  ter  begin  with.  It  don't 
look  fair  an'  sensible  ter  me." 

"  'Pears  like  ter  me,"  said  the  very  young 
fellow,  father  of  the  very  young  daughter,  "  ef 
a  man  is  old  enough  ter  git  married,  he  is  old 
enough  to  take  keer  of  hisself.  I  kin  make  out 
no  good  reason  why  Josiah  Tait  oughter  be  per- 
tected  agin  Budd  Wray.  'Pears  ter  me  ef  one 
of  'em  kin  larn  ter  play  Old  Sledge,  the  t'other 
kin.  An'  Josiah  hev  got  toler'ble  good  sense." 

"  That  's  how  come  all  ye  young  muskrats 
dunno  nuthin',"  retorted  Blake  in  some  heat. 
"  Jes'  let  one  of  you-uns  git  turned  twenty  year 
old,  an'  ye  think  ye  air  ez  wise  an'  ez  settled  as 
ef  ye  war  sixty,  an'  ye  can't  1'arn  nuthin'  more." 

"All  the  same,  I  don't  see  ez  Josiah  Tait 
needs  a  dry-nuss  ter  keep  off  Wray  an'  sech 
critters,"  was  the  response.  And  here  this  con- 
troversy ended. 

"  Somehow,"  said  Tobe  Rains,  reflectively, 
"it  don't  look  likely  ter  me  ez  he  an'  Josiah 
Tait  hev  enny  call  ter  be  sech  frien'ly  folks.  I 
hev  hearn  ez  how  Budd  Wray  war  a-follerin' 


88  IN   THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

round  Melindy  Price  afore  she  war  married, 
an'  she  liked  him  fustrate  till  Josiah  tuk  ter 
comin'  'bout  'n  the  Scrub-Oak  Ridge,  whar  she 
lived  in  them  days.  That  thar  ain't  the  stuff 
ter  make  frien's  out  'n.  Thar  is  some  sort  'n 
cur'ous  doin's  a-goin'  on  'bout'n  these  hyar 
frien'ly  kyerds." 

"  I  knowed  that  thar  'bout  'n  his  a-follerin' 
round  Melindy  afore  she  war  married.  I  'lowed 
one  time  ez  Melindy  hed  a  mind  ter  marry 
Wray  stiddier  Josiah,"  said  the  young  father, 
shaken  in  his  partisanship.  "  An'  it  always 
'peared  like  ter  me  ez  it  war  mighty  comical 
ez  he  an'  Josiah  tuk  ter  playin'  of  Old  Sledge 
an'  sech  tergether." 

These  questions  were  not  easy  of  solution. 
Many  speculations  were  preferred  concerning 
the  suspicious  circumstance  of  Budd  Wray's 
singular  proficiency  in  playing  Old  Sledge ;  but 
beyond  disparaging  innuendo  and  covert  insin- 
uation conjecture  could  not  go.  Everything  was 
left  doubtful,  and  so  was  the  road. 

It  was  hardly  four  o'clock,  but  the  languid 
work  had  ceased  and  the  little  band  was  dis- 
persing. Some  had  far  to  go  through  the  deep 
woods  to  their  homes,  and  those  who  lived  closer 
at  hand  were  not  disposed  to  atone  for  their 
comrades'  defection  by  prolonging  their  stay. 
The  echoes  for  a  long  time  vibrated  among  the 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.          89 

lonely  heights  with  the  metallic  sound  of  their 
horses'  hoofs,  every  moment  becoming  fainter, 
until  at  last  all  was  hushed.  Dusky  shadows, 
which  seemed  to  be  exhaled  from  the  ground, 
rose  higher  and  higher  up  the  mountain  side 
from  the  reservoir  of  gloorn  that  lay  in  the  val- 
ley. The  sky  was  a  lustrous  contrast  to  the 
darkling  earth.  The  sun  still  lingered,  large 
and  red,  above  the  western  summits  ;  the  clouds 
about  it  were  gorgeous  in  borrowed  color  ;  even 
those  hovering  in  the  east  had  caught  the  re- 
flection of  the  sunset  splendor,  and  among  their 
gold  and  crimson  flakes  swung  the  silver  globe 
of  the  hunter's  moon.  Now  and  then,  at  long 
intervals,  the  bark  of  the  fox  quivered  on  the 
air ;  once  the  laurel  stirred  with  a  faint  rustle, 
and  a  deer  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  ill-mended 
road,  catching  upon  his  spreading  antlers  the 
mingled  light  of  sun  and  moon.  For  a  moment 
he  was  motionless,  his  hoof  uplifted ;  the  next, 
with  an  elastic  spring,  as  of  a  creature  without 
weight,  he  was  flying  up  the  steep  slope  and 
disappearing  amid  the  slumberous  shades  of  the 
dark  pines.  A  sudden  sound  comes  from  far 
along  the  curves  of  the  road,  —  a  sound  foreign 
to  woods  and  stream  and  sky ;  again,  and  yet 
again,  growing  constantly  more  distinct,  the 
striking  of  iron  against  stone,  the  quick,  regular 
beat  of  a  horse's  tread,  and  an  equestrian  figure, 


90  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

facing  the  moon  and  with  the  sun  at  his  backt 
rides  between  the  steep  ascent  and  the  precipice 
on  his  way  to  the  Settlement  and  the  entice 
ments  of  Old  Sledge. 

He  was  not  the  conventional  type  of  the  rois- 
tering blade.  There  was  an  expression  of  set- 
tled melancholy  on  his  face  very  usual  with  these 
mountaineers,  reflected,  perhaps,  from  the  inde- 
finable tinge  of  sadness  that  rests  upon  the  Al- 
leghany  wilds,  that  hovers  about  the  purpling 
mountain-tops,  that  broods  over  the  silent  woods, 
that  sounds  in  the  voice  of  the  singing  waters. 
Nor  was  he  like  the  prosperous  "  perfessin' 
member  "  of  the  card-playing  culte.  His  listless 
manner  was  that  of  stolidity,  not  of  a  studied 
calm  ;  his  brown  jeans  suit  was  old  and  worn 
and  patched ;  his  hat,  which  had  seen  many  a 
drenching  winter  rain  and  scorching  summer 
sun,  had  acquired  sundry  drooping  curves  un- 
dreamed of  in  its  maker's  philosophy.  He  rode 
a  wiry  gray  mare  without  a  saddle,  and  carried 
a  heavy  rifle.  He  was  perhaps  twenty-three 
years  of  age,  a  man  of  great  strength  and  stat- 
ure, and  there  were  lines  about  his  lips  and  chin 
which  indicated  a  corresponding  development  of 
a  firm  will  and  tenacity  of  purpose.  His  slow 
brown  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  horizon  as  he 
went  around  the  ledge,  and  notwithstanding  the 
languid  monotony  of  the  expression  of  his  face 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.          91 

he  seemed  absorbed  in  some  definite  train  of 
thought,  rather  than  lost  in  the  vague,  hazy 
reverie  which  is  the  habitual  mental  atmos- 
phere of  the  quiescent  mountaineer.  The  mare, 
left  to  herself,  traveled  along  the  rocky  way  in 
a  debonair  fashion  implying  a  familiarity  with 
worse  roads,  and  soon  was  around  the  curve 
and  beginning  the  sharp  ascent  which  led  to 
the  Settlement.  There  was  a  rickety  bridge  to 
cross,  that  spanned  a  deep,  narrow  stream, 
which  caught  among  its  dark  pools  now  a  long, 
slender,  polished  lance  of  sunlight,  and  now  a 
dart  from  the  moon.  As  the  rider  went  on  up- 
ward the  woods  were  dense  as  ever ;  no  glimpse 
yet  of  the  signet  of  civilization  set  upon  the 
wilderness  and  called  the  Settlement.  By  the 
time  he  had  reached  the  summit  the  last  red 
rays  of  the  day  were  fading  from  the  tops  of 
the  trees,  but  the  moon,  full  and  high  in  the 
eastern  heavens,  shed  so  refulgent  a  light  that 
it  might  be  questioned  whether  the  sun  rose  on 
a  brighter  world  than  that  which  he  had  left. 
A  short  distance  along  level  ground,  a  turn  to 
the  right,  and  here,  on  the  highest  elevation  of 
the  range,  was  perched  the  little  town.  There 
was  a  clearing  of  ten  acres,  a  blacksmith's  shop, 
four  log  huts  facing  indiscriminately  in  any  di- 
rection, a  small  store  of  one  story  and  one  room, 
and  a  new  frame  court-house,  whitewashed  and 


92  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

inclosed  by  a  plank  fence.  In  the  last  session 
of  the  legislature,  the  Settlement  had  been  made 
the  county-seat  of  a  new  county ;  the  additional 
honor  of  a  name  had  been  conferred  upon  it, 
but  as  yet  it  was  known  among  the  population 
of  the  mountain  by  its  time-honored  and  accus- 
tomed title. 

Wray  dismounted  in  front  of  the  store,  hitched 
the  mare  to  a  laurel  bush,  and,  entering,  discov- 
ered his  two  boon  companions  drearily  waiting, 
and  .shuffling  the  cards  again  and  again  to  while 
away  the  time.  An  inverted  splint-basket  served 
as  table  ;  a  tallow  dip,  a  great  extravagance  in 
these  parts,  blinked  on  the  head  of  a  barrel  near 
by,  and  gave  a  most  flickering  and  ineffectual 
light,  but  the  steady  radiance  of  the  moon 
poured  in  a  wide,  white  flood  through  the  open 
door,  and  kindly  supplied  all  deficiencies.  The 
two  young  mountaineers  were  of  the  usual  sad- 
eyed  type,  and  the  impending  festivities  might 
have  seemed  to  those  of  a  wider  range  of  ex- 
perience than  the  Settlement  could  furnish  to 
be  clouded  with  a  funereal  aspect.  Before  the 
fire,  burning  low  and  sullenly  in  the  deep  chim- 
ney, were  sitting  two  elderly  men,  who  looked 
with  disfavor  upon  Wray  as  he  came  in  and 
placed  his  gun  with  a  clatter  in  the  corner. 

"  Ye  war  a  long  time  a-gittin'  hyar,  Budd," 
said  one  of  the  card-shufflers  in  a  gentle  voice, 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT   THE  SETTLEMINT.          93 

with  curiously  low-spirited  cadences.  He  spoke 
slowly,  too,  and  with  a  slight  difficulty,  as  if  he 
seldom  had  occasion  to  express  himself  in  words 
and  his  organs  were  out  of  practice.  He  was 
the  proprietor  of  the  store,  one  Tom  Scruggs, 
and  this  speech  was  by  way  of  doing  the  honors. 
The  other  looked  up  with  recognizing  eyes,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  I  war  hendered  some,"  replied  Wray,  seat- 
ing himself  in  a  rush-bottomed  chair,  and  draw- 
ing close  to  the  inverted  basket.  "  Ez  I  war 
a-comin'  along,  'bout  haffen  mile  an'  better  from 
our  house,  —  't  war  nigh  on  ter  three  o'clock,  I 
reckon,  —  I  seen  the  bigges',  fattes'  buck  I  hev 
seen  this  year  a-bouncin'  through  the  laurel, 
an'  I  shot  him.  An'  I  hed  to  kerry  him  'long 
home,  'kase  suthin'  mought  hev  got  him  ef  I 
hed  a-left  him  thar.  An'  it  hendered  me  some." 

"  An'  we  hev  ter  sit  hyar  a-wastin'  away  an' 
a-waitin'  while  ye  goes  a-huntin'  of  deer,"  said 
Josiah  Tait,  angrily,  and  speaking  for  the  first 
time.  "  I  could  hev  gone  an'  shot  twenty  deer 
ef  I  would  hev  tuk  the  time.  Ye  said  ez  how 
ye  war  a-goin'  ter  be  hyar  an  hour  by  sun,  an' 
jes'  look  a-yander,"  pointing  to  the  lustrous  disc 
of  the  moon. 

"  That  thar  moon  war  high  enough  'fore  the 
sun  war  a-settin',"  returned  Wray.  "  Ef  ye 
air  in  sech  a  hurry,  why  n't  yer  cut  them  thar 


94  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

kyerds  fur  deal,  an'  stop  that  thar  jowin'  o' 
yourn.  I  hev  hed  ez  much  of  that  ez  I  am 
a-goin'  ter  swallow." 

"  I  '11  put  it  down  ye  with  the  ramrod  o' 
that  thar  gun  o'  mine,  ef  ye  don't  take  keer 
how  ye  talk,"  retorted  the  choleric  Tait;  "an' 
ef  that  don't  set  easy  on  yer  stomach,  I  '11  see 
how  ye  '11  digest  a  bullet." 

"  I  'm  a-waitin'  fur  yer  ramrod,"  said  Wra} 
"  Jes'  try  that  fust,  an'  see  how  it  works." 

The  melancholy -voiced  store -keeper  intev 
rupted  these  amenities,  not  for  the  sake  oi 
peace,  —  white- winged  angel,  —  but  in  the  in- 
terests of  Old  Sledge.  "  Ef  I  hed  a-knowed  ez 
how  ye  two  boys  war  a-goin'  ter  take  ter  quar- 
relin'  an'  a-fightiri'  round  hyar,  a-stiddier  playin' 
of  kyerds  sensible-like,  I  would  n't  hev  shet  up 
shop  so  quick.  I  hed  a  good  many  little  turns 
of  work  ter  do,  what  I  hev  lef  ter  play  kyerds. 
An'  ye  two  mought  jow  tergether  some  other 
day,  it  'pears  like  ter  me.  Ye  air  a-wastin' 
more  time  a-jowin',  Josiah,  than  Budd  tuk  up 
in  comin'  an'  deer-huntin'  tergether.  Ye  hev 
cut  the  lowest  in  the  pack,  so  deal  the  kyerds, 
or  give  'em  ter  them  ez  will." 

The  suggestion  to  resign  the  deal  touched  Jo- 
siah in  a  tender  spot.  He  protested  that  he  was 
only  too  willing  to  play,  —  that  was  all  he 
wanted.  "  But  ter  be  kep'  a-waitin'  hyar  while 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.          95 

Budd  comes  a-snakin'  through  the  woods,  an' 
a-stoppin'  ter  shoot  wild  varmints  an'  sech, 
an'  then  a-goin'  home  ter  kerry  'em,  an'  then 
a-snakin'  agin  through  the  woods,  an'  a-gittin' 
hyar  nigh  on  ter  night-time,  —  that 's  what  riles 
me." 

"  Waal,  go  'long,  now ! "  exclaimed  Wray, 
fairly  roused  out  of  his  imperturbability.  "  Deal 
them  kyerds,  an'  stop  a-talkin'.  That  thar 
tongue  o'  yourn  will  git  cut  out  some  o'  these 
hyar  days.  It  jes'  goes  like  a  grist-mill,  an'  it 's 
enough  ter  make  a  man  deef  fur  life." 

Thus  exhorted,  Josiah  dealt.  In  receiving 
their  hands  the  players  looked  searchingly  at 
every  card,  as  if  in  doubtful  recognition  of  an 
old  acquaintance  ;  but  before  the  game  was 
fairly  begun  another  interruption  occurred.  One 
of  the  elderly  men  beside  the  fire  rose  and  ad- 
vanced upon  the  party. 

"  Thar  is  a  word  ez  we  hev  laid  off  ter  ax  ye, 
Budd  Wray,  which  will  be  axed  twict,  —  wunst 
right  hyar,  an'  wunst  at  the  Jedgmint  Day. 
War  it  ye  ez  inter juced  this  hyar  coal  o'  fire 
from  hell,  that  ye  call  Old  Sledge,  up  hyar  ter 
the  Settlemint  ?  " 

The  querist  was  a  gaunt,  forlorn-looking  man, 
stoop-shouldered,  and  slow  in  his  movements. 
There  was,  however,  a  distinct  intimation  of 
power  in  his  lean,  sinewy  figure,  and  his  face 


96  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

bore  the  scarlet  scar  of  a  wound  torn  by  a  furi- 
ous fang,  which,  though  healed  long  ago,  was  an 
ever-present  reminder  of  a  fierce  encounter  with 
a  wild  beast,  in  which  he  had  come  off  victorious. 
The  tones  of  his  voice  and  the  drift  and  rhetoric 
of  his  speech  bespoke  the  loan  of  the  circuit- 
rider. 

The  card-players  looked  up,  less  in  surprise 
than  exasperation,  and  Josiah  Tait,  fretfully  an- 
ticipating Wray,  spoke  in  reply  :  "  No,  he  never. 
I  fotched  this  hyar  coal  o'  fire  myself,  an'  ef  ye 
don't  look  out  an'  stand  back  out'n  the  way 
it  '11  flare  up  an'  singe  ye.  I  larnt  how  ter 
play  when  I  went  down  yander  ter  the  Cross- 
Roads,  an'  I  brung  it  ter  the  Settlemint  myself." 

There  was  a  mingled  glow  of  the  pride  of  the 
innovator  and  the  disdainful  superiority  of  the 
iconoclast  kindling  within  Josiah  Tait  as  he 
claimed  the  patent  for  Old  Sledge.  The  cate- 
chistic  terrors  of  the  Last  Day  had  less  reality 
for  him  than  the  present  honor  and  glory  apper- 
taining to  the  traveled  importer  of  a  new  game. 
The  Judgment  Day  seemed  imminent  over  his 
dodging  head  only  when  beholding  the  masterly 
scene-painting  of  the  circuit-rider,  and  the  fire 
and  brimstone  out  of  sight  were  out  of  mind. 

"But  ef  ye  air  a-thinkin'  of  callin'  me  ter 
'count  fur  sech,"  said  Wray,  nodding  at  the 
cards,  "  I  '11  hev  ye  ter  know  ez  I  kin  stand  up 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.          97 

ter  anything  I  does.  I  hev  got  no  call  ter  be 
ashamed  ov  myself,  an'  I  ain't  afeard  o'  nuthin' 
an'  nobody." 

"  Ye  gin  me  ter  onderstand,  then,  ez  Josiah 
1'arned  ye  ter  play  ?  "  asked  the  self-constituted 
grand  inquisitor.  "How  come,  then,  Budd 
Wray,  ez  ye  wins  all  the  truck  from  Josiah,  ef 
ye  air  jes'  a-1'arnin'  ?  " 

There  was  an  angry  exclamation  from  Josiah, 
and  Wray  laughed  out  triumphantly.  The  walls 
caught  the  infrequent  mirthful  sound,  and  re- 
verberated with  a  hollow  repetition.  From  the 
dark  forest  just  beyond  the  moon-flooded  clear- 
ing the  echo  rang  out.  There  was  a  subtle, 
weird  influence  in  those  exultant  tones,  rising 
and  falling  by  fitful  starts  in  that  tangled, 
wooded  desert ;  now  loud  and  close  at  hand, 
now  the  faintest  whisper  of  a  sound.  The  men 
all  turned  their  slow  eyes  toward  the  sombre 
shadows,  so  black  beneath  the  silver  moon,  and 
then  looked  at  each  other. 

"  It 's  'bout  time  fur  me  ter  be  a-startin'," 
said  the  old  hunter.  "Whenever  I  hear  them 
critters  a-laffin'  that  thar  way  in  them  woods  I 
puts  out  fur  home  an'  bars  up  the  door,  fur  I 
hev  hearn  tell  ez  how  the  sperits  air  a-prowlin' 
round  then,  an'  some  mischief  is  a-happenin'." 

"'T  ain't  nuthin'  but  Budd  Wray  a-laffin'," 
said  the  store-keeper  reassuringly.  "  I  hev  hearn 


98  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

them  thar  rocks  an'  things  a-answerin'  back 
every  minute  in  the  day,  when  anybody  hollers 
right  loud." 

"  They  don't  laff,  though,  like  they  war 
a-laffin'  jes'  a  while  ago." 

"No,  they  don't,"  admitted  the  store-keeper 
reluctantly ;  "  but  mebbe  it  air  'kase  thar  is 
nobody  round  hyar  ez  hev  got  much  call  ter 
laff." 

He  was  unaware  of  the  lurking  melancholy 
in  this  speech,  and  it  passed  unnoticed  by  the 
others. 

"  It 's  this  hyar  a-foolin'  along  of  Old  Sledge 
an'  sech  ez  calls  the  sperits  up,"  said  the  old 
hunter.  "  An'  ef  ye  knows  what  air  good  fur 
ye,  ye  '11  light  out  from  hyar  an'  go  home. 
They  air  a-laffin'  yit "  —  He  interrupted  him- 
self, and  glanced  out  of  the  door. 

The  faintest  staccato  laugh  thrilled  from 
among  the  leaves.  And  then  all  was  silent,  — 
not  even  the  bark  of  a  dog  nor  a  tremulous  whis- 
per of  the  night- wind. 

The  other  elderly  man,  who  had  not  yet 
spoken,  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fire.  "  I  'm 
a-goin',  too,"  he  said.  "  I  kem  hyar  ter  the 
Settlemint,"  he  added,  turning  upon  the  gam- 
blers, "  'kase  I  hev  been  called  ter  warn  ye  o' 
the  wickedness  o'  yer  ways,  ez  Jonah  afore  me 
war  tole  ter  go  up  ter  Nineveh  ter  warn  the 
folks  thar." 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.    99 

"Things  turns  out  powerful  cur'ous  wunst 
in  a  while,"  retorted  Wray.  "  He  war  swal- 
lowed by  a  whale  arterward." 

"  'Kase  he  would  n't  do  ez  he  war  tole ;  but 
even  thar  Providence  pertected  him.  He  kem 
out  'n  the  whale  agin,  what  nobody  kin  do  ez 
gits  swallowed  in  the  pit.  They  hev  ter  stay." 

"  It  hain't  me  ez  keeps  up  this  hyar  game," 
said  Wray  sullenly,  but  stung  to  a  slight  repent- 
ance by  this  allusion  to  the  pit.  "  It  air  Josiah 
hyar  ez  is  a-aimin'  ter  win  back  the  truck  he 
hev  los' ;  an'  so  air  Tom,  hyar.  I  hev  hed  tol- 
er'ble  luck  along  o'  this  Old  Sledge,  but  they 
know,  an'  they  hev  got  ter  stand  up  ter  it,  ez  I 
never  axed  none  of  'em  ter  play.  Ef  they 
scorches  tharselves  with  this  hyar  coal  o'  fire 
from  hell,  ez  ye  calls  it,  Josiah  brung  it,  an'  it 
air  Tom  an'  him  a-blowin'  on  it  ez  hev  kep'  it 
a-light." 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  quit,"  said  Josiah  Tait 
angrily,  the  loser's  desperate  eagerness  pulsing 
hot  and  quick  through  his  veins,  —  "I  ain't 
a-goin'  ter  quit  till  I  gits  back  that  thar  brindled 
heifer  an'  that  thar  gray  mare  out  yander,  what 
Budd  air  a-ridin',  an'  them  thar  two  wagon- 
loads  o'  corn." 

"  We  hev  said  our  say,  an'  we  air  a-goin\" 
remarked  one  of  the  unheeded  counselors. 

"  An'  play  on  of  yer  kyerds !  "  cried  Josiah 


100          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

to  the  others,  in  a  louder,  shriller  voice  than 
was  his  wont,  as  the  two  elderly  men  stepped 
out  of  the  door.  The  woods  caught  the  sound 
and  gave  it  back  in  a  higher  key. 

"  S'pose  we  stops  fur  ter-night,"  suggested 
the  store-keeper ;  "  them  thar  rocks  do  sound 
sort  'n  cur'ous  now." 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  stop  fur  nuthin'  an'  no- 
body ! "  exclaimed  Josiah,  in  a  tremor  of  keen 
anxiety  to  be  at  the  sport.  "Dad-burn  the 
sperits  !  Let  'em  come  in,  an'  I  '11  deal  'em  a 
hand.  Thar  !  that  trick  is  mine.  Play  ter  this 
hyar  queen  o'  trumps." 

The  royal  lady  was  recklessly  thrown  upon 
the  basket,  with  all  her  foes  in  ambush.  Some- 
how, they  did  not  present  themselves.  Tom 
was  destitute,  and  Budd  followed  with  the 
seven.  Josiah  again  pocketed  the  trick  with 
unction.  This  trifling  success  went  dispropor- 
tionately far  in  calming  his  agitation,  and  for  a 
time  he  played  more  needfully.  Tom  Scruggs's 
caution  made  ample  amends  for  his  lack  of  ex- 
perience. So  slow  was  he,  and  so  much  time 
did  he  require  for  consideration,  that  more  than 
once  he  roused  his  companions  to  wrath.  The 
anxieties  with  which  he  was  beset  preponder- 
ated over  the  pleasure  afforded  by  the  sport, 
and  the  winning  back  of  a  half-bushel  measure, 
which  he  had  placed  in  jeopardy  and  lost,  so 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.        101 

satisfied  this  prudent  soul  that  he  announced 
at  the  end  of  the  game  that  he  would  play  no 
more  for  this  evening.  The  others  were  wel- 
come, though,  to  continue  if  they  liked,  and  he 
would  sit  by  and  look  on.  He  snuffed  the 
blinking  tallow  dip,  and  reseated  himself,  an 
eager  spectator  of  the  play  that  followed. 

Wray  was  a  cool  hand.  Despite  the  awk- 
ward, unaccustomed  clutch  upon  the  cards  and 
the  doubtful  recognition  he  bestowed  on  each 
as  it  fell  upon  the  basket,  he  displayed  an  im- 
perturbability and  nerve  that  usually  come  only 
of  long  practice,  and  a  singular  pertinacity  in 
pursuing  the  line  of  tactics  he  had  marked  out, 
—  lying  in  wait  and  pouncing  unerringly  upon 
his  prey  in  the  nick  of  time.  The  brindled 
heifer's  mother  followed  her  offspring  into  his 
ownership ;  a  yoke  of  oxen,  a  clay-bank  filly, 
ten  hogs,  —  every  moment  he  was  growing 
richer.  But  his  success  did  not  for  an  instant 
shake  his  stolid  calm,  quicken  his  blood,  nor 
relax  his  vigilant  attention  ;  his  exultation  was 
held  well  in  hand  under  the  domination  of  a 
strong  will  and  a  settled  purpose.  Josiah  Tait 
became  almost  maddened  by  these  heavy  losses ; 
his  hands  trembled,  his  eager  exclamations 
were  incoherent,  his  dull  eyes  blazed  at  fever 
heat,  and  ever  and  anon  the  echo  of  his  shrill, 
raised  voice  rang  back  from  the  untiring  rocks. 


102         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  single  spectator  of  the  game  now  and 
then,  in  the  intervals  of  shuffling  and  dealing 
the  cards,  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  dark 
trees  whence  the  hidden  mimic  of  the  woods, 
with  some  strong  suggestion  of  sinister  intent, 
repeated  the  agitated  tones.  There  was  a  sil- 
ver line  all  along  the  summit  of  the  foliage, 
along  the  roofs  of  the  houses  and  the  topmost 
rails  of  the  fences;  a  sense  of  freshness  and 
dew  pervaded  the  air,  and  the  grass  was  all 
a-sparkle.  The  shadows  of  the  laurel  about 
the  door  were  beginning  to  fall  on  the  step, 
every  leaf  distinctly  defined  in  the  moon's  mag- 
ical tracery.  He  knew  without  looking  up  that 
she  had  passed  the  meridian,  and  was  swinging 
down  the  western  sky. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  in  a  husky  undertone,  — 
he  dared  not  speak  aloud,  for  the  mocker  in 
the  woods,  —  "  boys,  I  reckon  it 's  'bout  time 
we  war  a-quittin'  o'  this  hyar  a-playin'  of  Old 
Sledge;  it's  midnight  an' past,  an'  Budd  hev 
toler'ble  fur  ter  go." 

The  tallow  dip,  that  had  long  been  flickering 
near  its  end,  suddenly  went  out,  and  the  party 
suffered  a  partial  eclipse.  Josiah  Tait  dragged 
the  inverted  basket  closer  to  the  door  and  into 
the  full  brilliance  of  the  moon,  declaring  that 
neither  Wray  nor  he  should  leave  the  house  till 
he  had  retrieved  his  misfortunes  or  lost  every- 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.        103 

thing  in  the  effort.  The  host,  feeling  that 
even  hospitality  has  its  limits,  did  not  offer 
to  light  another  expensive  candle,  but  threw 
a  quantity  of  pine-knots  on  the  smouldering 
coals ;  presently  a  white  blaze  was  streaming  up 
the  chimney,  and  in  the  mingled  light  of  fire 
and  moon  the  game  went  on. 

"  Ye  oughter  take  keer,  Josiah,"  remonstrated 
the  sad-voiced  store-keeper,  as  a  deep  groan 
and  a  deep  curse  emphasized  the  result  of  high, 
jack,  and  game  for  Wray,  and  low  alone  for 
Tait.  "  An'  it 's  'bout  time  ter  quit." 

"Dad-burn  the  luck!"  exclaimed  Josiah,  in 
a  hard,  strained  voice,  "  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  leave 
this  hyar  spot  till  I  hev  won  back  them  thar 
critters  o'  mine  what  he  hev  tuk.  An'  I  kin 
do  it,  —  I  kin  do  it  in  one  more  game.  I  '11 
bet  —  I  '11  bet "  —  he  paused  in  bewildered  ex- 
citement ;  he  had  already  lost  to  Wray  every- 
thing available  as  a  stake.  There  was  a  sud- 
den unaccountable  gleam  of  malice  on  the  lucky 
winner's  face  ;  the  quick  glance  flashed  in  the 
moonlight  into  the  distended  hot  eyes  of  his 
antagonist.  Wray  laughed  silently,  and  began 
to  push  his  chair  away  from  the  basket. 

"  Stop !  stop  !  "  cried  Josiah,  hoarsely.  "  I 
hev  got  a  house,  —  a  house  an'  fifty  acres,  nigh 
about.  I  '11  bet  the  house  an'  land  agin  what 
ye  hev  won  from  me,  —  them  two  cows,  an'  the 


104          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

brindled  heifer,  an'  the  gray  mare,  an'  the  clay- 
bank  filly,  an'  them  ten  hogs,  an'  the  yoke  o' 
steers,  an'  the  wagon,  an'  the  corn,  — them  two 
loads  o'  corn  :  that  will  'bout  make  it  even, 
won't  it?"  He  leaned  forward  eagerly  as  he 
asked  the  question. 

"  Look  a-hyar,  Josiah,"  exclaimed  the  store- 
keeper, aghast,  "this  hyar  is  a-goin'  too  fur! 
Hain't  ye  los'  enough  a'ready  but  ye  must  be 
a-puttin'  up  the  house  what  shelters  ye  ?  Look 
at  me,  now :  I  ain't  done  los'  nothin'  but  the 
half-bushel  measure,  an'  I  hev  got  it  back  agin. 
An'  it  air  a  blessin'  that  I  hev  got  it  agin,  for 
't  would  hev  been  mighty  ill-convenient  round 
hyar  'thout  it." 

"  Will  ye  take  it  ? "  said  Josiah,  almost 
pleadingly,  persistently  addressing  himself  to 
Wray,  regardless  of  the  remonstrant  host. 
"  Will  ye  put  up  the  critters  agin  the  house 
an' land?" 

Wray  made  a  feint  of  hesitating.  Then  he 
signified  his  willingness  by  seating  himself  and 
beginning  to  deal  the  cards,  saying  before  he 
looked  at  his  hand,  "  That  thar  house  an'  land 
o'  yourn  agin  the  truck  ez  I  hev  won  from 
ye?" 

"  Oh,  Lord,  boys,  this  must  be  sinful ! "  re- 
monstrated the  proprietor  of  the  cherished  half- 
bushel  measure,  appalled  by  the  magnitude  of 
the  interests  involved. 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.        105 

"  Hold  yer  jaw  !  hold  yer  jaw  !  "  said  Josiah 
Tait.  "  I  kin  hardly  make  out  one  kyerd  from 
another  while  ye  're  a-preachin'  away,  same  ez 
the  rider!  I  done  tole  ye,  Budd,"  turning  again 
to  Wray,  "I  '11  put  up  the  house  an'  land  agin 
the  truck.  I  '11  git  a  deed  writ  fur  ye  in  the 
mornin',  ef  ye  win  it,"  he  added,  hastily,  think- 
ing he  detected  uncertainty  still  lurking  in  the 
expression  of  Wray's  face.  "  The  court  air 
a-goin'  ter  sit  hyar  ter-morrer,  an'  the  lawyers 
from  the  valley  towns  will  be  hyar  toler'ble 
soon,  I  reckon.  An'  I  '11  git  ye  a  deed  writ 
fust  thing  in  the  mornin'." 

"Ye  hearn  him  say  it?"  said  Wray,  turn- 
ing to  Tom  Scruggs. 

"  I  hearn  him,"  was  the  reply. 

And  the  game  went  on. 

"I  beg,"  said  Josiah,  piteously,  after  care- 
fully surveying  his  hand. 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  deal  ye  nare  'nother 
kyerd,"  said  Wray.  "  Ye  kin  take  a  pint 
fust." 

The  point  was  scored  by  the  faithful  look- 
er-on in  Josiah's  favor.  High,  low,  and  game 
were  made  by  Wray,  jack  being  in  the  pack. 
Thus  the  score  was  three  to  one.  In  the  next 
deal,  the  trump,  a  spade,  was  allowed  by  Wray 
to  stand.  He  led  the  king.  "  I  'in  low,  any- 
how," said  Josiah,  in  momentary  exultation,  as 


106  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

he  played  the  deuce  to  it.  Wray  next  led  the 
ace  whisking  for  the  jack,  and  caught  it. 

"  Dad-burn  the  rotten  luck !  "  cried  Josiah. 

With  the  advantage  of  high  and  jack  a  fore- 
gone conclusion,  Wray  began  to  play  warily  for 
game.  But  despite  his  caution  he  lost  the  next 
trick.  Josiah  was  in  doubt  how  to  follow  up 
this  advantage  ;  after  an  anxious  interval  of  cog- 
itation he  said,  "  I  b'lieve  I  '11  throw  away  fur 
a  while,"  and  laid  that  safe  card,  the  five  of  di- 
amonds, upon  the  basket.  "  Tom,"  he  added, 
"  put  on  some  more  o'  them  knots.  I  kin  hardly 
tell  what  I  'm  a-doin'  of.  I  hev  got  the  shakes, 
an'  somehow  'nother  my  eyes  is  cranky,  and 
wobble  so  ez  I  can't  see." 

The  white  sheets  of  flame  went  whizzing  mer- 
rily up  the  chimney,  and  the  clear  light  fell  full 
upon  the  basket  as  Wray  laid  upon  the  five  the 
ten  of  diamonds. 

"  Lord  !  Josiah  !  "  exclaimed  Tom  Scruggs, 
becoming  wild,  and  even  more  ill  judged  than 
usual,  beginning  to  feel  as  if  he  were  assisting 
at  his  friend's  obsequies,  and  to  have  a  more  de- 
cided conviction  that  this  way  of  coming  by 
house  and  land  and  cattle  and  goods  was  sinful. 
"  Lord  !  Josiah !  that  thar  kyerd  he  's  done 
saved  '11  count  him  ten  fur  game.  Ye  had  bet- 
ter hev  played  that  thar  queen  o'  di'rnonds,  an' 
dragged  it  out  'n  him." 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT   THE  SETTLEMINT.        107 

"  Good  Lord  in  heaven  ! "  shrieked  Josiah, 
in  a  frenzy  at  this  unwarrantable  disclosure. 

"  Lord  in  heaven !  "  rang  loud  from  the  depths 
of  the  dark  woods.  "  Heaven  !  "  softly  vibrated 
the  distant  heights.  The  crags  close  at  hand 
clanged  back  the  sound,  and  the  air  was  rilled 
with  repetitions  of  the  word,  growing  fainter 
and  fainter,  till  they  might  have  seemed  the 
echo  of  a  whisper. 

The  men  neither  heard  nor  heeded.  Tom 
Scruggs,  although  appreciating  the  depth  of  the 
infamy  into  which  he  had  unwittingly  plunged, 
was  fully  resolved  to  stand  stoutly  upon  the  de- 
fensive, —  he  even  extended  his  hand  to  take 
down  his  gun,  which  was  laid  across  a  couple  of 
nails  on  the  wall. 

"  Hold  on,  Josiah,  —  hold  on  !  "  cried  Wray, 
as  Tait  drew  his  knife.  "  Tom  never  went  fur 
ter  tell,  an'  I  '11  give  ye  a  ten  ter  make  it  fair. 
Thar  's  the  ten  o'  hearts ;  an'  a  ten  is  the  mos' 
ez  that  thar  critter  of  a  queen  could  hev  made 
out  ter  hev  tuk,  anyhow." 

Josiah  hesitated. 

"  That  thar  is  the  mos'  ez  she  could  hev  done," 
said  the  store-keeper,  smoothing  over  the  results 
of  his  carelessness.  "  The  jacks  don't  count  but 
fur  one  apiece,  so  that  thar  ten  is  the  mos'  ez 
she  could  hev  made  out  ter  git,  even  ef  I  hed  n't 
a-forgot  an'  tole  Budd  she  war  in  yer  hand." 


108          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Josiah  was  mollified  by  this  very  equitable 
proposal,  and  resuming  his  chair  he  went  on  with 
the  play.  The  ten  of  hearts  which  he  had  thus 
secured  was,  however,  of  no  great  avail  in  count- 
ing for  game.  Wray  had  already  high  and  jack, 
and  game  was  added  to  these.  The  score  there- 
fore stood  six  to  two  in  his  favor. 

The  perennial  faith  of  the  gambler  in  the  next 
turn  of  the  wheel  was  strong  in  Josiah  Tait. 
Despite  his  long  run  of  bad  luck,  he  was  still 
animated  by  the  feverish  delusion  that  the  gra- 
cious moment  was  surely  close  at  hand  when  suc- 
cess would  smile  upon  him.  Wray,  it  was  true, 
needed  to  score  only  one  point  to  turn  him  out 
of  house  and  land,  homeless  and  penniless.  He 
was  confident  it  would  never  be  scored.  If  he 
could  make  the  four  chances  he  would  be  even 
with  his  antagonist,  and  then  he  could  win  back 
in  a  single  point  all  that  he  had  lost.  His  face 
wore  a  haggard,  eager  expectation,  and  the  agi- 
tation of  the  moment  thrilled  through  every 
nerve.  He  watched  with  fiery  eyes  the  dealing 
of  the  cards,  and  after  hastily  scrutinizing  his 
hand  he  glanced  with  keen  interest  to  see  the 
trump  turned.  It  was  a  knave,  counting  one 
for  the  dealer.  There  was  a  moment  of  intense 
silence  ;  he  seemed  petrified  as  his  eyes  met  the 
triumphant  gaze  of  his  opponent.  The  next 
instant  he  was  at  Wray's  throat. 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMENT.   109 

The  shadows  of  the  swaying  figures  reeled 
across  the  floor,  marring  the  exquisite  arabesque 
of  moonshine  and  laurel  leaves,  —  quick,  hard 
panting,  a  deep  oath,  and  spasmodic  efforts  on 
the  part  of  each  to  draw  a  sharp  knife  pre- 
vented by  the  strong  intertwining  arms  of  the 
other. 

The  store-keeper,  at  a  safe  distance,  remon- 
strated with  both,  to  no  purpose,  and  as  the 
struggle  could  end  only  in  freeing  a  murderous 
hand  he  rushed  into  the  clearing,  shouting  the 
magical  word  "  Fight !  "  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  lungs.  There  was  no  immediate  response, 
save  that  the  affrighted  rocks  rang  with  the 
frenzied  cry,  and  the  motionless  woods  and  the 
white  moonlight  seemed  pervaded  with  myriads 
of  strange,  uncanny  voices.  Then  a  cautious 
shutter  of  a  glassless  window  was  opened,  and 
through  the  narrow  chink  there  fell  a  bar  of  red 
light,  on  which  was  clearly  defined  an  inquiring 
head,  like  an  inquisitively  expressive  silhouette. 
'*  They  air  a-fightin'  yander  ter  the  store,  whar 
they  air  a-playin'  of  Old  Sledge,"  said  the  mas- 
ter of  the  shanty,  for  the  enlightenment  of  the 
curious  within.  And  then  he  closed  the  shut- 
ter, and  like  the  law-abiding  citizen  that  he  was 
betook  himself  to  his  broken  rest.  This  was 
the  only  expression  of  interest  elicited. 

A  dreadful  anxiety  was   astir  in  the  store- 


110          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

keeper's  thoughts.  One  of  the  men  would  cer- 
tainly be  killed  ;  but  he  cared  not  so  much  for 
the  shedding  of  blood  in  the  abstract  as  that  the 
deed  should  be  committed  on  his  premises  at  the 
dead  of  night ;  and  there  might  be  such  a  con- 
catenation of  circumstances,  through  the  male- 
factor's willful  perversion  of  the  facts,  that  sus- 
picion would  fall  upon  him.  The  first  circuit 
court  ever  held  in  the  new  county  would  be  in 
session  to-morrow  ;  and  the  terrors  of  the  law, 
deadly  to  an  unaccustomed  mind,  were  close 
upon  him.  Finding  no  help  from  without,  he 
rushed  back  into  the  store,  determined  to  make 
one  more  appeal  to  the  belligerents.  "  Budd," 
he  cried,  "  I  '11  holp  ye  ter  hold  Josiah,  ef  ye  '11 
promise  ye  won't  tech  him  ter  hurt.  He  air 
crazed,  through  a-losin'  of  his  truck.  Say  ye 
won't  tech  him  ter  hurt,  an'  I  '11  holp  ye  ter 
hold  him." 

Josiah  succumbed  to  their  united  efforts,  and 
presently  made  no  further  show  of  resistance, 
but  sank,  still  panting,  into  one  of  the  chairs 
beside  the  inverted  basket,  and  gazed  blankly, 
with  the  eyes  of  a  despairing,  hunted  creature, 
out  at  the  sheen  of  the  moonlight. 

"  I  ain't  a-wantin'  ter  hurt  nobody,"  said 
Wray,  in  a  surly  tone.  "  I  never  axed  him  ter 
play  kyerds,  nor  ter  bet,  nor  nuthin'.  He 
1'arned  me  hisself,  an'  ef  I  hed  los'  stiddier  of 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLE  MINT.        Ill 

him   he  would   be   a-thinkin'  now   ez   it's   all 
right." 

"  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  stand  up  ter  what  I  done 
said,  though,"  Josiah  declared  brokenly.  "  Ye 
need  n't  be  afeard  ez  how  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter 
make  my  words  true.  Ef  ye  conies  hyar  at 
noon  termorrer,  ye  '11  git  that  thar  deed,  an'  ye 
kin  take  the  house  an'  land  ez  I  an'  my  folks 
hev  hed  nigh  on  ter  a  hundred  year.  I  ain't 
a-goin'  ter  fail  o'  my  word,  though." 

He  rose  suddenly,  and  stepped  out  of  the  door. 
His  footfalls  sounded  with  a  sullen  thud  in  the 
utter  quietude  of  the  place ;  a  long  shadow 
thrown  by  the  sinking  moon  dogged  him  noise- 
lessly as  he  went,  until  he  plunged  into  the 
depths  of  the  woods,  and  their  gloom  absorbed 
both  him  and  his  silent  pursuer. 

A  dank,  sunless  morning  dawned  upon  the 
house  in  which  Josiah  Tait  and  his  fathers  had 
lived  for  nearly  a  hundred  years :  it  was  a  hum- 
ble log  cabin  nestled  in  the  dense  forest,  about 
four  miles  from  the  Settlement.  Fifty  cleared 
acres,  in  an  irregular  shape,  lay  behind  it ;  the 
cornstalks,  sole  remnant  of  the  crop  lost  at  Old 
Sledge,  were  still  standing,  their  sickly  yellow 
tint  blanched  by  contrast  with  the  dark  brown 
of  the  tall  weeds  in  a  neighboring  field,  that 
had  grown  up  after  the  harvested  wheat,  and 
flourished  in  the  summer  sun,  and  died  under 


112          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

the  first  fall  of  the  frost.  A  heavy  moisture  lay 
upon  them  at  noon,  this  dreary  autumnal  day ; 
a  wet  cloud  hung  in  the  tree-tops ;  here  and 
there,  among  its  gray  vapors,  a  scarlet  bough 
flamed  with  sharply  accented  intensity.  There 
was  no  far-reaching  perspective  in  the  long  aisles 
of  the  woods  ;  the  all-pervading  mist  had  en- 
wrapped the  world,  and  here,  close  at  hand,  were 
bronze-green  trees,  and  there  spectre-like  out- 
lines of  boles  and  branches,  dimly  seen  in  the 
haze,  and  beyond  an  opaque,  colorless  curtain. 
From  the  chimney  of  the  house  the  smoke  rose 
slowly ;  the  doors  were  closed,  and  not  a  crea- 
ture was  visible  save  ten  hogs  prowling  about 
in  front  of  the  dwelling  among  the  fallen  acorns, 
pausing  and  looking  up  with  that  odd,  porcine 
expression  of  mingled  impudence  and  malignity 
as  Budd  Wray  appeared  suddenly  in  the  mist 
and  made  his  way  to  the  cabin. 

He  knocked  ;  there  was  a  low-toned  response. 
After  hesitating  a  moment,  he  lifted  the  latch 
and  went  in.  He  was  evidently  unexpected; 
the  two  occupants  of  the  room  looked  at  him 
with  startled  eyes,  in  which,  however,  the  mo- 
mentary surprise  was  presently  merged  in  an 
expression  of  bitter  dislike.  The  elder,  a  faded, 
careworn  woman  of  fifty,  turned  back  without 
a  word  to  her  employment  of  washing  clothes. 
The  younger,  a  pretty  girl  of  eighteen,  looked 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.        113 

hard  at  him  with  fast-filling  blue  eyes,  and  ris- 
ing from  her  low  chair  beside  the  fire  said,  in 
a  voice  broken  by  grief  and  resentment,  "  Ef 
this  hyar  house  air  yourn,  Budd  Wray,  I  wants 
ter  git  out  'n  it." 

" 1  hev  come  hyar  ter  tell  ye  a  word,"  said 
Budd  Wray,  meeting  her  tearful  glance  with  a 
stern  stolidity.  He  flung  himself  into  a  chair, 
and  fixing  his  moody  eyes  on  the  fire  went  on  : 
"  A  word  ez  I  hev  been  a-aimin'  an'  a-contrivin' 
ter  tell  ye  ever  sence  ye  war  married  ter  Josiah. 
Tait,  an'  afore  that,  —  ever  sence  ye  tuk  back 
the  word  ez  ye  bed  gin  me  afore  ye  ever  seen 
him,  'kase  o'  his  hevin'  a  house,  an'  critters,  an' 
sech  like.  He  hain't  got  none  now,  —  none  of 
'em.  I  hev  been  a-layin'  off  ter  bring  him  ter 
this  pass  fur  a  long  time,  'count  of  the  scanda- 
lous way  ye  done  treated  me  a  year  ago  las' 
June.  He  hain't  got  no  house,  nor  no  critters, 
nor  nuthin'.  I  done  it,  an'  I  come  hyar  with 
the  deed  in  my  pocket  ter  tell  ye  what  I  done 
it  fur." 

Her  tears  flowed  afresh,  and  she  looked  ap- 
pealingly  at  him.  He  did  not  remove  his  in- 
dignant eyes  from  the  blaze,  stealing  timidly 
up  the  smoky  chimney.  "  I  never  hed  nuthin' 
much,"  he  continued,  "  an'  I  never  said  I  hed 
nuthin'  much,  like  Josiah ;  but  I  thought  ez  how 

ye  an'  me  might  make  out  toler'ble  well,  bein' 
8 


114  IN   THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

ez  we  sot  consider'ble  store  by  each  other  in 
them  days,  afore  he  ever  tuk  ter  comin'  a-huntin' 
yander  ter  Scrub-Oak  Ridge,  whar  ye  war  a-liv- 
in'  then.  I  don't  keer  nuthin'  'bout  'n  it  now, 
'ceptin'  it  riles  me,  an'  I  war  bound  ter  spite  ye 
fur  it.  I  don't  keer  nuthin'  more  'bout  ye  now 
than  fur  one  o'  them  thar  dead  leaves.  I  want 
ye  ter  know  I  jes'  done  it  ter  spite  ye,  —  ye 
is  the  one.  I  hain't  got  no  grudge  agin  Josiah 
ter  talk  about.  He  done  like  any  other  man 
would." 

The  color  flared  into  the  drooping  face,  and 
there  was  a  flash  in  the  weeping  blue  eyes. 

"  I  s'pose  I  hed  a  right  ter  make  a  ch'ice," 
she  said,  angrily,  stung  by  these  taunts. 

"Jes'  so,"  responded  Wray,  coolly;  "  ye  hed 
a  right  ter  make  a  ch'ice  atwixt  two  men,  but 
no  gal  hev  got  a  right  ter  put  a  man  on  one 
eend  o'  the  beam,  an'  a  lot  o'  senseless  critters 
an'  house  an'  land  on  the  t'other.  Ye  never 
keered  nuthin'  fur  me  nor  Josiah  nuther,  ef 
the  truth  war  knowed ;  ye  war  all  tuk  up  with 
the  house  an'  land  an'  critters.  An'  they  hev 
done  lef  ye,  what  nare  one  o'  the  men  would 
hev  done." 

The  girl  burst  into  convulsive  sobs,  but  the 
sight  of  her  distress  had  no  softening  influence 
upon  Wray.  "  I  hev  done^it  ter  pay  ye  back 
fur  what  ye  hev  done  ter  me,  an'  I  reckon  ye  '11 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMINT.        115 

'low  now  ez  we  air  toler'ble  even.  Ye  tuk  all 
I  keered  far  away  from  me,  an'  now  I  hev  tuk 
all  ye  keer  fur  away  from  ye.  An'  I  'm  a-goin' 
now  yander  ter  the  Settlemint  ter  hev  this  hyar 
deed  recorded  on  the  book  ter  the  court-house, 
like  Lawyer  Green  tole  me  ter  do  right  straight. 
I  laid  off,  though,  ter  come  hyar  fust,  an'  tell 
ye  what  I  hev  been  aimin'  ter  be  able  ter  tell 
ye  fur  a  year  an'  better.  An'  now  I  'm  a-goin' 
ter  git  this  hyar  deed  recorded." 

He  replaced  the  sheet  of  scrawled  legal-cap 
in  his  pocket,  and  rose  to  go  ;  then  turned,  and, 
leaning  heavily  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  looked 
at  her  with  lowering  eyes. 

"  Ye  're  a  pore  little  critter,"  he  said,  with 
scathing  contempt.  "  I  dunno  what  ails  Josiah 
nor  me  nuther  ter  hev  sot  our  hearts  on  sech 
a  little  stalk  o'  cheat." 

He  went  out  into  the  enveloping  mountain 
mist  with  the  sound  of  her  weeping  ringing  in 
his  ears.  His  eyes  were  hot,  and  his  angry 
heart  was  heavy.  He  had  schemed  and  waited 
for  his  revenge  with  persistent  patience.  For- 
tune had  favored  him,  but  now  that  it  had  fully 
come,  strangely  enough  it  failed  to  satisfy  him. 
The  deed  in  his  breast-pocket  weighed  like  a 
stone,  and  as  he  rode  on  through  the  clouds 
that  lay  upon  the  mountain  top,  the  sense  of  its 
pressure  became  almost  unendurable.  And  yet, 


116          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

with  a  perplexing  contrariety  of  emotion,  he 
felt  more  bitterly  toward  her  than  ever,  and 
experienced  a  delight  almost  savage  in  hold- 
ing the  possessions  for  which  she  had  been  so 
willing  to  resign  him.  "  Jes'  kicked  me  out  'n 
the  way  like  I  war  nuthin'  more  'n  that  thar 
branch  o'  pisen-oak,  fur  a  passel  o'  cattle  an' 
sech  like  critters,  an'  a  house  an'  land,  —  'kase 
I  don't  count  Josiah  in.  'T  war  the  house  an' 
land  an'  sech  she  war  a-studyin'  'bout."  And 
every  moment'  the  weight  of  the  deed  grew 
heavier.  He  took  scant  notice  of  external  ob- 
jects as  he  went,  keeping  mechanically  along 
the  path,  closed  in  twenty  yards  ahead  of  him 
by  the  opaque  curtain  of  mist.  The  trees  at 
the  greatest  distance  visible  stood  shadow-like 
and  colorless  in  their  curious,  unreal  atmos- 
phere ;  but  now  and  then  the  faintest  flake  of  a 
pale  rose  tint  would  appear  in  the  pearly  haze, 
deepening  and  deepening,  till  at  the  vanishing 
point  of  the  perspective  a  gorgeous  scarlet-oak 
tree  would  rise,  red  enough  to  make  a  respecta- 
ble appearance  on  the  planet  Mars.  There  was 
an  audible  stir  breaking  upon  the  silence  of  the 
solemn  woods,  the  leaves  were  rustling  together, 
and  drops  of  moisture  began  to  patter  down 
upon  the  ground.  The  perspective  grew  grad- 
ually longer  and  longer,  as  the  rising  wind 
cleared  the  forest  aisles ;  and  when  he  reached 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT   THE  SETTLEMINT.        117 

the  road  that  ran  between  the  precipice  and 
the  steep  ascent  above,  the  clouds  were  falling 
apart,  the  mist  had  broken  into  thousands  of 
fleecy  white  wreaths,  clinging  to  the  fantasti- 
cally tinted  foliage,  and  the  sunlight  was  strik- 
ing deep  into  the  valley.  The  woods  about  the 
Settlement  were  all  aglow  with  color,  and  spark- 
ling with  the  tremulous  drops  that  shimmered 
in  the  sun. 

There  was  an  unwonted  air  of  animation  and 
activity  pervading  the  place.  To  the  court- 
house fence  were  hitched  several  lean,  forlorn 
horses,  with  shabby  old  saddles,  or  sometimes 
merely  blankets  ;  two  or  three  wagons  were 
standing  among  the  stumps  in  the  clearing. 
The  door  of  the  store  was  occupied  by  a  coterie 
of  mountaineers,  talking  with  unusual  vivacity 
of  the  most  startling  event  that  had  agitated 
the  whole  country-side  for  a  score  of  years,  — 
the  winning  of  Josiah  Tait's  house  and  land  at 
Old  Sledge.  The  same  subject  was  rife  among 
the  choice  spirits  congregated  in  the  court- 
house yard  and  about  the  portal  of  that  temple 
of  justice,  and  W  ray's  approach  was  watched 
with  the  keenest  interest. 

He  dismounted,  and  walked  slowly  to  the 
door,  paused,  and  turning  as  with  a  sudden 
thought  threw  himself  hastily  upon  his  horse  ; 
he  dashed  across  the  clearing,  galloped  heed- 


118         IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

lessly  down  the  long,  steep  slope,  and  the  as- 
tounded loiterers  heard  the  thunder  of  the  hoofs 
as  they  beat  at  a  break-neck  speed  upon  the 
frail,  rotten  timbers  of  the  bridgo  below. 

Josiah  Tait  had  put  his  troubles  in  to  soak  at 
the  still-house,  and  this  circumstance  did  not 
tend  to  improve  the  cheerfulness  of  his  little, 
home  when  he  returned  in  the  afternoon.  The 
few  necessities  left  to  the  victims  of  Old  Sledge 
had  been  packed  together,  and  were  in  readi- 
ness to  be  transported  with  him,  his  wife,  and 
mother-in-law  to  Melinda's  old  home  on  Scrub- 
Oak  Ridge,  when  her  brother  should  drive  his 
wagon  over  for  them  the  next  morning. 

They  never  knew  how  to  account  for  it. 
While  the  forlorn  family  were  sitting  before  the 
smoking  fire,  as  the  day  waned,  the  door  was 
suddenly  burst  open,  and  Budd  Wray  strode  in 
impetuously.  A  brilliant  flame  shot  up  the 
chimney,  and  the  deed  which  Josiah  Tait  had 
that  day  executed  was  a  cinder  among  the  logs. 
He  went  as  he  came,  and  the  mystery  was  never 
explained. 

There  was,  however,  "a  sayin'  goin'  'bout 
the  mounting  ez  how  Josiah  an'  Melindy  jes' 
'ticed  him,  somehow  'nother,  ter  thar  house,  an' 
held  him,  an'  tuk  the  deed  away  from  him  ter- 
gether.  An'  they  made  him  send  back  the  crit- 
ters an'  the  corn  what  he  done  won  away  from 


OLD  SLEDGE  AT  THE  SETTLEMTNT.        119 

'em."  This  version  came  to  his  ears,  and  was 
never  denied.  He  was  more  ashamed  of  relent- 
ing in  his  vengeance  than  of  the  wild  legend 
that  he  had  been  worsted  in  a  tussle  with  Me- 
linda  and  Josiah. 

And  since  the  night  of  Budd  Wray's  barren 
success  the  playing  of  Old  Sledge  has  become  a 
lost  art  at  the  Settlement. 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY. 


HE  first  saw  it  in  the  twilight  of  a  clear 
October  evening.  As  the  earliest  planet  sprang 
into  the  sky,  an  answering  gleam  shone  red 
amid  the  glooms  in  the  valley.  A  star  too  it 
seemed.  And  later,  when  the  myriads  of  the 
fairer,  whiter  lights  of  a  moonless  night  were 
all  athrob  in  the  great  concave  vault  bending  to 
the  hills,  there  was  something  very  impressive 
in  that  solitary  star  of  earth,  changeless  and 
motionless  beneath  the  ever-changing  skies. 

Chevis  never  tired  of  looking  at  it.  Somehow 
it  broke  the  spell  that  draws  all  eyes  heaven- 
ward on  starry  nights.  He  often  strolled  with 
his  cigar  at  dusk  down  to  the  verge  of  the  crag, 
and  sat  for  hours  gazing  at  it  and  vaguely  spec- 
ulating about  it.  That  spark  seemed  to  have 
kindled  all  the  soul  and  imagination  within 
him,  although  he  knew  well  enough  its  prosaic 
source,  for  he  had  once  questioned  the  gawky 
mountaineer  whose  services  he  had  secured  as 
guide  through  the  forest  solitudes  during  this 
hunting  expedition. 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       121 

"That  thar  spark  in  the  valley  ?  "  Hi  Bates 
had  replied,  removing  the  pipe  from  his  lips 
and  emitting  a  cloud  of  strong  tobacco  smoke. 
"'T  ain't  nuthin'  but  the  light  in  Jerry  Shaw's 
house,  'bout  haffen  mile  from  the  foot  of  the 
mounting.  Ye  pass  that  thar  house  when  ye 
goes  on  the  Christel  road,  what  leads  down  the 
mounting  off  the  Back-bone.  That 's  Jerry 
Shaw's  house,  —  that 's  what  it  is.  He  's  a 
blacksmith,  an'  he  kin  shoe  a  horse  toler'ble 
well  when  he  ain't  drunk,  ez  he  mos'ly  is." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  light  from  the  forge," 
suggested  Chevis. 

"  That  thar  forge  ain't  run  more  'n  half  the 
day,  let  'lone  o'  nights.  I  hev  never  hearn  tell 
on  Jerry  Shaw  a-workin'  o'  nights,  —  nor  in  the 
daytime  nuther,  ef  he  kin  git  shet  of  it.  No 
sech  no  'count  critter  'twixt  hyar  an'  the  Settle- 
mint." 

So  spake  Chevis's  astronomer.  Seeing  the 
star  even  through  the  prosaic  lens  of  stern  re- 
ality did  not  detract  from  its  poetic  aspect. 
Chevis  never  failed  to  watch  for  it.  The  first 
faint  glinting  in  the  azure  evening  sky  sent  his 
eyes  to  that  red  reflection  suddenly  aglow  in  the 
valley ;  even  when  the  mists  rose  above  it  and 
hid  it  from  him,  he  gazed  at  the  spot  where  it 
had  disappeared,  feeling  a  calm  satisfaction  to 
know  that  it  was  still  shining  beneath  the  cloud- 


122          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

curtain.  He  encouraged  himself  in  this  bit  of 
sentimentality.  These  unique  eventide  effects 
seemed  a  fitting  sequel  to  the  picturesque  day, 
passed  in  hunting  deer,  with  horn  and  hounds, 
through  the  gorgeous  autumnal  forest ;  or  per- 
chance in  the  more  exciting  sport  in  some  rocky 
gorge  with  a  bear  at  bay  and  the  frenzied  pack 
around  him  ;  or  in  the  idyllic  pleasures  of  bird- 
shooting  with  a  thoroughly-trained  dog ;  and 
coming  back  in  the  crimson  sunset  to  a  well- 
appointed  tent  and  a  smoking  supper  of  veni- 
son or  wild  turkey,  —  the  trophies  of  his  skill. 
The  vague  dreaminess  of  his  cigar  and  the 
charm  of  that  bright  bit  of  color  in  the  night- 
shrouded  valley  added  a  sort  of  romantic  zest 
to  these  primitive  enjoyments,  and  ministered 
to  that  keen  susceptibility  of  impressions  which 
Reginald  Chevis  considered  eminently  charac- 
teristic of  a  highly  wrought  mind  and  nature. 

He  said  nothing  of  his  fancies,  however,  to 
his  fellow  sportsman,  Ned  Varney,  nor  to  the 
mountaineer.  Infinite  as  was  the  difference  be- 
tween these  two  in  mind  and  cultivation,  his 
observation  of  both  had  convinced  him  that 
they  were  alike  incapable  of  appreciating  and 
comprehending  his  delicate  and  dainty  musings. 
Varney  was  essentially  a  man  of  this  world; 
his  mental  and  moral  conclusions  had  been 
adopted  in  a  calm,  mercantile  spirit,  as  giving 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       123 

the  best  return  for  the  outlay,  and  the  market 
was  not  liable  to  fluctuations.  And  the  moun- 
taineer could  go  no  further  than  the  prosaic  fact 
of  the  light  in  Jerry  Shaw's  house.  Thus  Reg- 
inald Chevis  was  wont  to  sit  in  contemplative 
silence  on  the  crag  until  his  cigar  was  burnt  out, 
and  afterward  to  lie  awake  deep  in  the  night, 
listening  to  the  majestic  lyric  welling  up  from 
the  thousand  nocturnal  voices  of  these  moun- 
tain wilds. 

During  the  day,  in  place  of  the  red  light  a 
gauzy  little  curl  of  smoke  was  barely  visible,  the 
only  sign  or  suggestion  of  human  habitation  to 
be  seen  from  the  crag  in  all  the  many  miles  of 
long,  narrow  valley  and  parallel  tiers  of  ranges. 
Sometimes  Chevis  and  Varney  caught  sight  of  it 
from  lower  down  on  the  mountain  side,  whence 
was  faintly  distinguishable  the  little  log-house 
and  certain  vague  lines  marking  a  rectangular 
inclosure  ;  near  at  hand,  too,  the  forge,  silent 
and  smokeless.  But  it  did  not  immediately  oc- 
cur to  either  of  them  to  theorize  concerning  its 
inmates  and  their  lives  in  this  lonely  place ;  for 
a  time,  not  even  to  the  speculative  Chevis.  As 
to  Varney,  he  gave  his  whole  mind  to  the  mat- 
ter in  hand, — his  gun,  his  dog,  his  game, —  and 
his  note-book  was  as  systematic  and  as  roman- 
tic as  the  ledger  at  home. 

It  might  be  accounted  an  event  in  the  history 


124          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

of  that  log-hut  when  Reginald  Chevis,  after  rid- 
ing past  it  eighty  yards  or  so,  chanced  one  day 
to  meet  a  country  girl  walking  toward  the  house. 
She  did  not  look  up,  and  he  caught  only  an  in- 
distinct glimpse  of  her  face.  She  spoke  to  him, 
however,  as  she  went  by,  which  is  the  invaria- 
ble custom  with  the  inhabitants  of  the  seques- 
tered nooks  among  the  encompassing  mountains, 
whether  meeting  stranger  or  acquaintance.  He 
lifted  his  hat  in  return,  with  that  punctilious 
courtesy  which  he  made  a  point  of  according  to 
persons  of  low  degree.  In  another  moment  she 
had  passed  down  the  narrow  sandy  road,  over- 
hung with  gigantic  trees,  and,  at  a  deft,  even 
pace,  hardly  slackened  as  she  traversed  the 
great  log  extending  across  the  rushing  stream, 
she  made  her  way  up  the  opposite  hill,  and  dis- 
appeared gradually  over  its  brow. 

The  expression  of  her  face,  half-seen  though 
it  was,  had  attracted  his  attention.  He  rode 
slowly  along,  meditating.  "  Did  she  go  into 
Shaw's  house,  just  around  the  curve  of  the 
road  ?  "  he  wondered.  "  Is  she  Shaw's  daugh- 
ter, or  some  visiting  neighbor?" 

That  night  he  looked  with  a  new  interest  at 
the  red  star,  set  like  a  jewel  in  the  floating 
mists  of  the  valley. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  asked  of  Hi  Bates,  when 
the  three  men  were  seated,  after  supper,  around 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       125 

the  camp-fire,  which  sent  lurid  tongues  of  flame 
and  a  thousand  bright  sparks  leaping  high  in 
the  darkness,  and  illumined  the  vistas  of  the 
woods  on  every  side,  save  where  the  sudden 
crag  jutted  over  the  valley,  —  "Do  you  know 
whether  Jerry  Shaw  has  a  daughter,  —  a  young 
girl?"  , 

"  Ye-es,"  drawled  Hi  Bates,  disparagingly, 
"  he  hev." 

A  pause  ensued.  The  star  in  the  valley  was 
blotted  from  sight ;  the  rising  mists  had  crept 
to  the  verge  of  the  crag ;  nay,  in  the  under- 
growth fringing  the  mountain's  brink,  there 
were  softly  clinging  white  wreaths. 

"  Is  she  pretty  ?  "  asked  Chevis. 

"  Waal,  no,  she  ain't,"  said  Hi  Bates,  deci- 
sively. "  She  's  a  pore,  no  'count  critter."  Then 
he  added,  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  being  misap- 
prehended, "  Not  ez  thar  is  any  harm  in  the 
gal,  ye  onderstand.  She  's  a  mighty  good,  saft- 
spoken,  quiet  sort  o'  gal,  but  she  's  a  pore, 
white-faced,  slirn  little  critter.  She  looks  like 
she  hain't  got  no  sort  'n  grit  in  her.  She  makes 
me  think  o'  one  o'  them  slim  little  slips  o'  wil- 
low every  time  nor  I  sees  her.  She  hain't  got 
long  ter  live,  I  reckon,"  he  concluded,  dismally. 

Reginald  Chevis  asked  him  no  more  ques- 
tions about  Jerry  Shaw's  daughter. 

Not  long  afterward,  when  Chevis  was  hunt- 


126          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

ing  through  the  deep  woods  about  the  base  of 
the  mountain  near  the  Christel  road,  his  horse 
happened  to  cast  a  shoe.  He  congratulated 
himself  upon  his  proximity  to  the  forge,  for 
there  was  a  possibility  that  the  blacksmith 
might  be  at  work  ;  according  to  the  account 
which  Hi  Bates  had  given  of  Jerry  Shaw's  hab- 
its, there  were  half  a  dozen  chances  against  it. 
But  the  shop  was  at  no  great  distance,  and  he 
set  out  to  find  his  way  back  to  the  Christel 
road,  guided  by  sundry  well-known  landmarks 
on  the  mountain  side :  certain  great  crags  hang- 
ing above  the  tree -tops,  showing  in  grander 
sublimity  through  the  thinning  foliage,  or  beet- 
ling bare  and  grim  ;  a  dismantled  and  deserted 
hovel,  the  red-berried  vines  twining  amongst 
the  rotting  logs ;  the  full  flow  of  a  tumultuous 
stream  making  its  last  leap  down  a  precipice 
eighty  feet  high,  with  yeasty,  maddening  waves 
below  and  a  rainbow-crowned  crystal  sheet 
above.  And  here  again  the  curves  of  the  wood- 
land road.  As  the  sound  of  the  falling  water 
grew  softer  and  softer  in  the  distance,  till  it  was 
hardly  more  than  a  drowsy  murmur,  the  faint 
vibrations  of  a  far-off  anvil  rang  upon  the  air. 
Welcome  indeed  to  Chevis,  for  however  entic- 
ing might  be  the  long  rambles  through  the  red- 
olent October  woods  with  dog  and  gun,  he  had 
no  mind  to  tramp  up  the  mountain  to  his  tent, 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.  127 

five  miles  distant,  leading  the  resisting  horse  all 
the  way.  The  afternoon  was  so  clear  and  so 
still  that  the  metallic  sound  penetrated  far 
through  the  quiet  forest.  At  every  curve  of 
the  road  he  expected  to  see  the  log-cabin  with 
its  rail  fence,  and  beyond  the  low-hanging 
chestnut  -  tree,  half  its  branches  resting  upon 
the  roof  of  the  little  shanty  of  a  blacksmith's 
shop.  After  many  windings  a  sharp  turn 
brought  him  full  upon  the  humble  dwelling, 
with  its  background  of  primeval  woods  and  the 
purpling  splendors  of  the  western  hills.  The 
chickens  were  going  to  roost  in  a  stunted  cedar- 
tree  just  without  the  door ;  an  incredibly  old 
man,  feeble  and  bent,  sat  dozing  in  the  linger- 
ing sunshine  on  the  porch ;  a  girl,  with  a  pail 
on  her  head,  was  crossing  the  road  and  going 
down  a  declivity  toward  a  spring  which  bub- 
bled up  in  a  cleft  of  the  gigantic  rocks  that 
were  piled  one  above  another,  rising  to  a  great 
height.  A  mingled  breath  of  cool,  dripping 
water,  sweet-scented  fern,  and  pungent  mint 
greeted  him  as  he  passed  it.  He  did  not  see 
the  girl's  face,  for  she  had  left  the  road  before 
he  went  by,  but  he  recognized  the  slight  figure, 
with  that  graceful  poise  acquired  by  the  prosaic 
habit  of  carrying  weights  upon  the  head,  and 
its  lithe,  swaying  beauty  reminded  him  of  the 
mountaineer's  comparison,  —  a  slip  of  willow. 


128  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

And  now,  under  the  chestnut-tree,  in  anxious 
converse  with  Jerry  Shaw,  who  came  out  ham- 
mer in  hand  from  the  anvil,  concerning  the 
shoe  to  be  put  on  Strathspey's  left  fore-foot, 
and  the  problematic  damage  sustained  since  the 
accident.  Chevis's  own  theory  occupied  some 
minutes  in  expounding,  and  so  absorbed  his  at- 
tention that  he  did  not  observe,  until  the  horse 
was  fairly  under  the  blacksmith's  hands,  that, 
despite  Jerry  Shaw's  unaccustomed  industry, 
this  was  by  no  means  a  red-letter  day  in  his 
habitual  dissipation.  He  trembled  for  Strath- 
spey, but  it  was  too  late  now  to  interfere.  Jerry 
Shaw  was  in  that  stage  of  drunkenness  which 
is  greatly  accented  by  an  elaborate  affectation 
of  sobriety.  His  desire  that  Chevis  should 
consider  him  perfectly  sober  was  abundantly 
manifest  in  his  rigidly  steady  gait,  the  preter- 
natural gravity  in  his  bloodshot  eyes,  his  spar- 
ingness  of  speech,  and  the  earnestness  with 
which  he  enunciated  the  acquiescent  formulae 
which  had  constituted  his  share  of  the  conver- 
sation. Now  and  then,  controlling  his  faculties 
by  a  great  effort,  he  looked  hard  at  Chevis  to 
discover  what  doubts  might  be  expressed  in  his 
face  concerning  the  genuineness  of  this  staid 
deportment ;  and  Chevis  presently  found  it  best 
to  affect  too.  Believing  that  the  blacksmith's 
histrionic  attempts  in  the  rdle  of  sober  artisan 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.  129 

were  occupying  his  attention  more  than  the 
paring  of  Strathspey's  hoof,  which  he  held  be- 
tween his  knees  on  his  leather  apron,  while  the 
horses  danced  an  animated  measure  on  the  other 
three  feet,  Chevis  assumed  an  appearance  of  in- 
difference, and  strolled  away  into  the  shop.  He 
looked  about  him,  carelessly,  at  the  horseshoes 
hanging  on  a  rod  in  the  rude  aperture  that 
served  as  window,  at  the  wagon-tires,  the  plow- 
shares, the  glowing  fire  of  the  forge.  The  air 
within  was  unpleasantly  close,  and  he  soon 
found  himself  again  in  the  door-way. 

"  Can  I  get  some  water  here  ?  "  he  asked,  as 
Jerry  Shaw  reentered,  and  began  hammering 
vigorously  at  the  shoe  destined  for  Strathspey. 

The  resonant  music  ceased  for  a  moment. 
The  solemn,  drunken  eyes  were  slowly  turned 
upon  the  visitor,  and  the  elaborate  affectation 
of  sobriety  was  again  obtrusively  apparent  in 
the  blacksmith's  manner.  He  rolled  up  more 
closely  the  blue-checked  homespun  sleeve  from 
his  corded  hammer-arm,  twitched  nervously  at 
the  single  suspender  that  supported  his  copper- 
colored  jeans  trousers,  readjusted  his  leather 
apron  hanging  about  his  neck,  and,  casting  upon 
Chevis  another  glance,  replete  with  a  challeng- 
ing gravity,  fell  to  work  upon  the  anvil,  every 
heavy  and  well-directed  blow  telling  with  the 
precision  of  machinery. 


130          IN   THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  question  had  hardly  been  heard  before 
forgotten.  At  the  next  interval,  when  he  was 
going  out  to  fit  the  horse,  Chevis  repeated  his 
request. 

"  Water,  did  ye  say  ?  "  asked  Jerry  Shaw, 
looking  at  him  with  narrowing  eyelids,  as  if  to 
shut  out  all  other  contemplation  that  he  might 
grapple  with  this  problem.  "  Thar  's  no  fraish 
water  hyar,  but  ye  kin  go  yander  ter  the  house 
and  ax  fur  some ;  or,"  he  added,  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  sunlight  with  his  broad,  blackened 
hand,  and  looking  at  the  huge  wall  of  stone  be- 
yond the  road,  "ye  kin  go  down  yander  ter 
the  spring,  an'  ax  that  thar  gal  fur  a  drink." 

Chevis  took  his  way,  in  the  last  rays  of  sun- 
shine, across  the  road  and  down  the  declivity 
in  the  direction  indicated  by  the  blacksmith. 
A  cool  gray  shadow  fell  upon  him  from  the 
heights  of  the  great  rocks,  as  he  neared  them  ; 
the  narrow  path  leading  from  the  road  grew 
dank  and  moist,  and  presently  his  feet  were 
sunk  in  the  still  green  and  odorous  water-loving 
weeds,  the  clumps  of  fern,  and  the  pungent 
mint.  He  did  not  notice  the  soft  verdure  ;  he 
did  not  even  see  the  beautiful  vines  that  hung 
from  earth-filled  niches  among  the  rocks,  and 
lent  to  their  forbidding  aspect  something  of  a 
smiling  grace ;  their  picturesque  grouping,  where 
they  had  fallen  apart  to  show  this  sparkling 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       131 

fountain  of  bright  up-springing  water,  was  all 
lost  upon  his  artistic  perceptions.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  girl  standing  beside  the  spring,  her 
pail  filled,  but  waiting,  with  a  calm,  expectant 
look  on  her  face,  as  she  saw  him  approaching. 

No  creature  could  have  been  more  coarsely 
habited :  a  green  cotton  dress,  faded  to  the 
faintest  hue  ;  rough  shoes,  just  visible  beneath 
her  skirts ;  a  dappled  gray  and  brown  calico 
sun-bonnet,  thrown  aside  on  a  moss-grown 
bowlder  near  at  hand.  But  it  seemed  as  if  the 
wild  nature  about  her  had  been  generous  to  this 
being  toward  whom  life  and  fortune  had  played 
the  niggard.  There  were  opaline  lights  in  her 
dreamy  eyes  which  one  sees  nowhere  save  in 
sunset  clouds  that  brood  above  dark  hills  ;  the 
golden  sunbeams,  all  faded  from  the  landscape, 
had  left  a  perpetual  reflection  in  her  bronze 
hair  ;  there  was  a  subtle  affinity  between  her 
and  other  pliant,  swaying,  graceful  young 
things,  waving  in .  the  mountain  breezes,  fed  by 
the  rain  and  the  dew.  She  was  hardly  more 
human  to  Chevis  than  certain  lissome  little 
woodland  flowers,  the  very  names  of  which  he 
did  not  know,  —  pure  white,  star-shaped,  with 
a  faint  green  line  threading  its  way  through 
each  of  the  five  delicate  petals  ;  he  had  seen 
them  embellishing  the  banks  of  lonely  pools,  or 
growing  in  dank,  marshy  places  in  the  middle 


132          IN  THE   TENNESSEE   MOtTNTAfNS. 

of  the  unfrequented  road,  where  perhaps  it  had 
been  mended  in  a  primitive  way  with  a  few  rot- 
ting rails. 

"  May  I  trouble  you  to  give  me  some  water?  " 
asked  Che  vis,  prosaically  enough.  She  neither 
smiled  nor  replied.  She  took  the  gourd  from 
the  pail,  dipped  it  into  the  lucent  depths  of  the 
spring,  handed  it  to  him,  and  stood  awaiting 
its  return  when  he  should  have  finished.  The 
cool,  delicious  water  was  drained,  and  he  gave 
the  gourd  back.  "I  am  much  obliged,"  he  said. 

"  Ye  're  welcome,"  she  replied,  in  a  slow,  sing- 
ing monotone.  Had  the  autumn  winds  taught 
her  voice  that  melancholy  cadence  ? 

Chevis  would  have  liked  to  hear  her  speak 
again,  but  the  gulf  between  his  station  and  hers 
—  so  undreamed  of  by  her  (for  the  differences 
of  caste  are  absolutely  unknown  to  the  indepen- 
dent mountaineers),  so  patent  to  him  —  could 
be  bridged  by  few  ideas.  They  had  so  little  in 
common  that  for  a  moment  he  could  think  of 
nothing  to  say.  His  cogitation  suggested  only 
the  inquiry,  "  Do  you  live  here  ?  "  indicating  the 
little  house  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

"  Yes,"  she  chanted  in  the  same  monotone, 
"  I  lives  hyar." 

She  turned  to  lift  the  brimming  pail.  Chevis 
spoke  again  :  "  Do  you  always  stay  at  home  ? 
Do  you  never  go  anywhere  ?  " 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       133 

Her  eyes  rested  upon  him,  with  a  slight  sur- 
prise looking  out  from  among  their  changing 
lights.  "  No,"  she  said,  after  a  pause ;  "  I  hev 
no  call  to  go  nowhar  ez  I  knows  on." 

She  placed  the  pail  on  her  head,  took  the  dap- 
pled sun-bonnet  in  her  hand,  and  went  along  the 
path  with  the  assured,  steady  gait  and  the  grace- 
ful backward  poise  of  the  figure  that  precluded 
the  possibility  of  spilling  a  drop  from  the  vessel. 

He  had  been  touched  in  a  highly  romantic 
way  by  the  sweet  beauty  of  this  little  woodland 
flower.  It  seemed  hard  that  so  perfect  a  thing 
of  its  kind  should  be  wasted  here,  unseen  by 
more  appreciative  eyes  than  those  of  bird,  or 
rabbit,  or  the  equally  uncultured  human  beings 
about  her  ;  and  it  gave  him  a  baffling  sense  of 
the  mysterious  injustice  of  life  to  reflect  upon 
the  difference  in  her  lot  and  that  of  others  of 
her  age  in  higher  spheres.  He  went  thought- 
fully through  the  closing  shadows  to  the  shop, 
mounted  the  re-shod  Strathspey,  and  rode  along 
the  rugged  ascent  of  the  mountain3  gravely 
pondering  on  worldly  inequalities. 

He  saw  her  often  afterward,  although  he 
spoke  to  her  again  but  once.  He  sometimes 
stopped  as  he  came  and  went  on  the  Christel 
road,  and  sat  chatting  with  the  old  man,  her 
grandfather,  on  the  porch,  sunshiny  days,  or 
lounged  in  the  barn-like  door  of  Jerry  Shaw's 


134         IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

shop  talking  to  the  half-drunken  blacksmith. 
He  piqued  himself  on  the  readiness  with,  which 
he  became  interested  in  these  people,  entered 
into  their  thoughts  and  feelings,  obtained  a  com- 
prehensive idea  of  the  machinery  of  life  in  this 
wilderness,  —  more  complicated  than  one  could 
readily  believe,  looking  upon  the  changeless, 
face  of  the  wide,  unpopulated  expanse  of  moun- 
tain ranges  stretching  so  far  beneath  that  infi- 
nite sky.  They  appealed  to  him  from  the  basis 
of  their  common  humanity,  he  thought,  and  the 
pleasure,  of  watching  the  development  of  the 
common  human  attributes  in  this  peculiar  and 
primitive  state  of  society  never  palled  upon  him. 
He  regarded  with  contempt  Varney's  frivolous 
displeasure  and  annoyance  because  of  Hi  Bates's 
utter  insensibility  to  the  difference  in  their  so- 
cial position,  and  the  necessity  of  either  acqui- 
escing-in  the  supposititious  equality  or  dispens- 
ing with  the  invaluable  services  of  the  proud 
and  independent  mountaineer ;  because  of  the 
patois  of  the  untutored  people,  to  hear  which, 
Varney  was  wont  to  declare,  set  his  teeth  on 
edge ;  because  of  their  narrow  prejudices,  their 
mental  poverty,  their  idle  shiftlessness,  their  un- 
couth dress  and  appearance.  Chevis  flattered 
himself  that  he  entertained  a  broader  view.  He 
had  not  even  a  subacute  idea  that  he  looked 
upon  these  people  and  their  inner  life  only  as 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       135 

picturesque  bits  of  the  mental  and  moral  land- 
scape ;  that  it  was  an  aesthetic  and  theoretical 
pleasure  their  contemplation  afforded  him  ;  that 
he  was  as  far  as  ever  from  the  basis  of  common 
humanity. 

Sometimes  while  he  talked  to  the  old  man  on 
the  sunlit  porch,  the  "  slip  o'  willow  "  sat  in  the 
door- way,  listening  too,  but  never  speaking.. 
Sometimes  he  would  find  her  with  her  father  at 
the  forge,  her  fair,  ethereal  face  illumined  with 
an  alien  and  fluctuating  brilliancy,  shining  and 
fading  as  the  breath  of  the  fire  rose  and  fell. 
He  came  to  remember  that  face  so  well  that 
in  a  sorry  sketch-book,  where  nothing  else  was 
finished,  there  were  several  laborious  pages 
lighted  up  with  a  faint  reflection  of  its  beauty. 
But  he  was  as  much  interested  perhaps,  though 
less  poetically,  in  that  massive  figure,  the  idle 
blacksmith.  He  looked  at  it  all  from  an  ideal 
point  of  view.  The  star  in  the  valley  was  only 
a  brilliant,  set  in  the  night  landscape,  and  sug- 
gested a  unique  and  pleasing  experience. 

How  should  he  imagine  what  luminous  and 
wistful  eyes  were  turned  upward  to  where 
another  star  burned,  —  the  light  of  his  camp- 
fire  on  the  crag ;  what  pathetic,  beautiful  eyes 
had  learned  to  watch  and  wait  for  that  red 
gleam  high  on  the  mountain's  brow,  —  hardly 
below  the  stars  in  heaven  it  seemed  !  How 


136          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

could  he  dream  of  the  strange,  vague,  unrea- 
soning trouble  with  which  his  idle  comings  and 
goings  had  clouded  that  young  life,  a  trouble 
as  strange,  as  vague,  as  vast,  as  the  limitless 
sky  above  her. 

She  understood  him  as  little.  As  she  sat  in 
the  open  door- way,  with  the  flare  of  the  fire  be- 
hind her,  and  gazed  at  the  red  light  shining  on 
the  crag,  she  had  no  idea  of  the  heights  of 
worldly  differences  that  divided  them,  more  in- 
surmountable than  precipices  and  flying  chutes 
of  mountain  torrents,  and  chasms  and  fissures 
of  the  wild  ravine  :  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
life  he  had  left,  and  of  its  rigorous  artificialities 
and  gradations  of  wealth  and  estimation.  And 
with  a  heart  full  of  pitiable  unrealities  she 
looked  up  at  the  glittering  simulacrum  of  a  star 
on  the  crag,  while  he  gazed  down  on  the  ideal 
star  in  the  valley. 

The  weeks  had  worn  deep  into  November. 
Chevis  and  Varney  were  thinking  of  going 
home ;  indeed,  they  talked  of  breaking  camp 
day  after  to-morrow,  and  saying  a  long  adieu  to 
wood  and  mountain  and  stream.  They  had 
had  an  abundance  of  good  sport  and  a  surfeit  of 
roughing  it.  They  would  go  back  to  town  and 
town  avocations  invigorated  by  their  holiday, 
and  taking  with  them  a  fresh  and  exhilarating 
recollection  of  the  forest  life  left  so  far  behind. 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       137 

It  was  near  dusk,  on  a  dull,  cold  evening, 
when  Chevis  dismounted  before  the  door  of  the 
blacksmith's  little  log-cabin.  The  chestnut-tree 
hung  desolate  and  bare  on  the  eaves  of  the 
forge  ;  the  stream  rushed  by  in  swift  gray  whirl- 
pools under  a  sullen  gray  sky  ;  the  gigantic  wall 
of  broken  rocks  loomed  gloomy  and  sinister  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  —  not  so  much  as 
a  withered  leaf  of  all  their  vines  clung  to  their 
rugged  surfaces.  The  mountains  had  changed 
color :  the  nearest  ranges  were  black  with  the 
myriads  of  the  grim  black  branches  of  the  de- 
nuded forest;  far  away  they  stretched  in  par- 
allel lines,  rising  tier  above  tier,  and  showing 
numberless  gradations  of  a  dreary,  neutral  tint, 
which  grew  ever  fainter  in  the  distance,  till 
merged  in  the  uniform  tone  of  the  sombre  sky. 

Indoors  it  was  certainly  more  cheerful.  A 
hickory  fire  dispensed  alike  warmth  and  light. 
The  musical  whir  of  a  spinning-wheel  added  its 
unique  charm.  From  the  rafters  depended 
numberless  strings  of  bright  red  pepper-pods 
and  ears  of  pop-corn ;  hanks  of  woolen  and  cot- 
ton yarn  ;  bunches  of  medicinal  herbs  ;  brown 
gourds  and  little  bags  of  seeds.  On  rude  shelves 
against  the  wall  were  ranged  cooking  uten- 
sils, drinking  vessels,  etc.,  all  distinguished  by 
that  scrupulous  cleanliness  which  is  a  marked 
feature  of  the  poor  hovels  of  these  mountaineers, 


138          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

and  in  striking  contrast  to  the  poor  hovels  of 
lowlanders.  The  rush-bottomed  chairs,  drawn 
in  a  semicircle  before  the  rough,  ill-adjusted 
stones  which  did  duty  as  hearth,  were  occupied 
by  several  men,  who  seemed  to  be  making  the 
blacksmith  a  prolonged  visit;  various  members 
of  the  family  were  humbly  seated  on  sundry  in- 
verted domestic  articles,  such  as  wash-tubs,  and 
splint-baskets  made  of  white  oak.  There  was 
circulating  among  Jerry  Shaw's  friends  a  flat 
bottle,  facetiously  denominated  "  tickler,"  read- 
ily emptied,  but  as  readily  replenished  from  a 
keg  in  the  corner.  Like  the  widow's  cruse  of 
oil,  that  keg  was  miraculously  never  empty. 
The  fact  of  a  still  near  by  in  the  wild  ravine 
might  suggest  a  reason  for  its  perennial  How. 
It  was  a  good  strong  article  of  apple-brandy, 
and  its  effects  were  beginning  to  be  distinctly 
visible. 

Truly  the  ethereal  woodland  flower  seemed 
strangely  incongruous  with  these  brutal  and  un- 
couth conditions  of  her  life,  as  she  stood  at  a 
little  distance  from  this  group,  spinning  at  her 
wheel.  Chevis  felt  a  sudden  sharp  pang  of  pity 
for  her  when  he  glanced  toward  her ;  the  next 
instant  he  had  forgotten  it  in  his  interest  in  her 
work.  It  was  altogether  at  variance  with  the 
ideas  which  he  had  hitherto  entertained  concern- 
ing that  humble  handicraft.  There  came  across 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       139 

him  a  vague  recollection  from  his  city  life  that 
the  peasant  girls  of  art  galleries  and  of  the  lyric 
stage  were  wont  to  sit  at  the  wheel.  "  But  per- 
haps they  were  spinning  flax,"  he  reflected. 
This  spinning  was  a  matter  of  walking  back 
and  forth  with  smooth,  measured  steps  and 
graceful,  undulatory  motion ;  a  matter,  too,  of 
much  pretty  gesticulation,  —  the  thread  in  one 
hand,  the  other  regulating  the  whirl  of  the 
wheel.  He  thought  he  had  never  seen  attitudes 
so  charming. 

Jerry  Shaw  hastened  to  abdicate  and  offer 
one  of  the  rush-bottomed  chairs  with  the  eager 
hospitality  characteristic  of  these  mountaineers, 
—  a  hospitality  that  meets  a  stranger  on  the 
threshold  of  every  hut,  presses  upon  him,  un- 
grudgingly, its  best,  and  follows  him  on  his  de- 
parture with  protestations  of  regret  out  to  the 
rickety  fence.  Chevis  was  more  or  less  known 
to  all  of  the  visitors,  and  after  a  little,  under 
the  sense  of  familiarity  and  the  impetus  of  the 
apple-brandy,  the  talk  flowed  on  as  freely  as  be- 
fore his  entrance.  It  was  wilder  and  more  an- 
tagonistic to  his  principles  and  prejudices  than 
anything  he  had  hitherto  heard  among  these 
people,  and  he  looked  on  and  listened,  interest- 
ed in  this  new  development  of  a  phase  of  life 
which  he  had  thought  he  had  sounded  from  its 
lowest  note  to  the  top  of  its  compass.  He  was 


140          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

glad  to  remain ;  the  scene  had  impressed  his 
cultivated  perceptions  as  an  interior  by  Teniers 
might  have  done,  and  the  vehemence  and  law- 
lessness of  the  conversation  and  the  threats  of 
violence  had  little  reality  for  him ;  if  he  thought 
about  the  subject  under  discussion  at  all,  it  was 
with  a  reassuring  conviction  that  before  the 
plans  could  be  carried  out  the  already  intoxi- 
cated mountaineers  would  he  helplessly  drunk. 
Nevertheless,  he  glanced  ever  and  anon  at  the 
young  girl,  loath  that  she  should  hear  it,  lest  its 
virulent,  angry  bitterness  should  startle  her. 
She  was  evidently  listening,  too,  but  her  fair 
face  was  as  calm  and  untroubled  as  one  of  the 
pure  white  faces  of  those  flower-stars  of  his 
early  stay  in  the  mountains. 

"  Them  Peels  ought  n't  ter  be  let  live !  "  ex- 
claimed Elijah  Burr,  a  gigantic  fellow,  arrayed 
in  brown  jeans,  with  the  accompaniments  of 
knife,  powder-horn,  etc.,  usual  with  the  hunters 
of  the  range ;  his  gun  stood,  with  those  of  the 
other  guests,  against  the  wall  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  "  They  ought  n't  ter  be  let  live,  an'  I  'd 
top  off  all  three  of  'em  fur  the  skin  an'  horns  of 
a  deer." 

"  That  thar  is  a  true  word,"  assented  Jerry 
Shaw.  "  They  oughter  be  run  down  an'  kilt, 
•—all  three  o'-them  Peels." 

Chevis  could  not  forbear  a  question.    Always 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       141 

on  the  alert  to  add  to  his  stock  of  knowledge 
of  men  and  minds,  always  analyzing  his  own 
inner  life  and  the  inner  life  of  those  about 
him,  he  said,  turning  to  his  intoxicated  host, 
"  Who  are  the  Peels,  Mr.  Shaw,  —  if  I  may 
ask?" 

"  Who  air  the  Peels  ?  "  repeated  Jerry  Shaw, 
making  a  point  of  seizing  th*e  question.  "  They 
air  the  meanest  men  in  these  hyar  mountings. 
Ye  might  hunt  from  Copperhead  Ridge  ter 
Clinch  River,  an'  the  whole  spread  o'  the  val- 
ley, an'  never  hear  tell  o'  no  sech  no  'count  crit- 
ters." 

"  They  ought  n't  ter  be  let  live  ! "  again  urged 
Elijah  Burr.  4'  No  man  ez  treats  his  wife  like 
that  dad-burned  scoundrel  Ike  Peel  do  oughter 
be  let  live.  That  thar  woman  is  my  sister  an' 
Jerry  Shaw's  cousin,  —  an'  I  shot  him  down  in 
his  own  door  year  afore  las'.  I  shot  him  ter 
kill ;  but  somehow  'nother  I  war  that  shaky, 
an'  the  cussed  gun  hung  fire  a-fust,  an'  that  thar 
pore  wife  o'  his'n  screamed  an'  hollered  so,  that 
I  never  done  nuthin'  arter  all  but  lay  him  up 
for  four  month  an'  better  for  that  thar  pore  crit- 
ter ter  nuss.  He  '11  see  a  mighty  differ  nex' 
time  I  gits  my  chance.  An'  't  ain't  fur  off," 
he  added  threateningly. 

"  Would  n't  it  be  better  to  persuade  her  to 
leave  him?"  suggested  Chevis  pacifically,  with- 


142         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

out,  however,  any  wild  idea  of  playing  peace- 
maker between  fire  and  tow. 

Burr  growled  a  fierce  oath,  and  then  was  si- 
lent. 

A  slow  fellow  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire- 
place explained :  "  Thar 's  whar  all  the  trouble 
kem  from.  She  would  n't  leave  him,  fur  all  he 
treated  her  awful.  She  said  ez  how  he  war 
mighty  good  ter  her  when  he  war  n't  drunk.  So 
'Lijah  shot  him." 

This  way  of  cutting  the  Gordian  knot  of  do- 
mestic difficulties  might  have  proved  efficacious 
but  for  the  shakiness  induced  by  the  thrill  of 
fraternal  sentiment,  the  infusion  of  apple-brandy, 
the  protest  of  the  bone  of  contention,  and  the 
hanging  fire  of  the  treacherous  gun.  Elijah 
Burr  could  remember  no  other  failure  of  aim 
for  twenty  years. 

"  He  won't  git  shet  of  me  that  easy  agin ! " 
Burr  declared,  with  another  pull  at  the  flat 
tickler.  "  But  ef  it  bed  n't  hev  been  fur  what 
happened  las'  week,  I  mought  hev  let  him  off 
fur  awhile,"  he  continued,  evidently  actuated  by 
some  curiously  distorted  sense  of  duty  in  the 
premises.  "  I  oughter  hev  kilt  him  afore.  But 
now  the  cussed  critter  is  a  gone  coon.  Dad- 
burn  the  whole  tribe  !  " 

Chevis  was  desirous  of  knowing  what  had 
happened  last  week.  He  did  not,  however,  feel 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       143 

justified  in  asking  more  questions.  But  apple- 
brandy is  a  potent  tongue-loosener,  and  the 
unwonted  communicativeness  of  the  stolid  and 
silent  mountaineers  attested  its  strength  in  this 
regard.  Jerry  Shaw,  without  inquiry,  enlight- 
ened him. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  said,  turning  to  Chevis,  "  'Li- 
jah  he  thought  ez  how  ef  he  could  git  that  fool 
woman  ter  come  ter  his  house,  he  could  shoot 
Ike  fur  his  meanness  'thout  botherin'  of  her,  an' 
things  would  all  git  easy  agin.  Waal,  he  went 
thar  one  day  when  all  them  Peels,  the  whole 
lay-out,  war  gone  down  ter  the  Settlement  ter 
hear  the  rider  preach,  an'  he  jes'  run  away  with 
two  of  the  brats,  —  the  littlest  ones,  ye  onder- 
stand,  —  a-thinkin'  he  mought  tole  her  off  from 
Ike  that  thar  way.  We  hearn  ez  how  the  pore 
critter  war  nigh  on  ter  distracted  'bout  'em, 
but  Ike  never  let  her  come  arter  'em.  Least- 
ways, she  never  kem.  Las'  week  Ike  kem  fur 
'em  hisself,  —  him  an'  them  two  cussed  brothers 
o'  his'n.  All  'Lijah's  folks  war  out  'n  the  way  ; 
him  an'  his  boys  war  off  a-huntin',  an'  his  wife 
hed  gone  down  ter  the  spring,  a  haffen  mile  an' 
better,  a-washin'  clothes  ;  nobody  war  ter  the 
house  'ceptin'  them  two  chillen  o'  Ike's.  An' 
Ike  an'  his  brothers  jes'  tuk  the  chillen  away, 
an'  set  fire  ter  the  house  ;  an'  time  'Lijah's  wife 
got  thar,  't  war  nuthin'  but  a  pile  o'  ashes.  So 


144          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

we  've  determinated  ter  go  up  yander  ter  Laurel 
Notch,  twenty  mile  along  the  ridge  of  the  moun- 
ting, ter-night,  an'  wipe  out  them  Peels,  —  'kase 
they  air  a-goin'  ter  move  away.  That  thar 
wife  o'  Ike's,  what  made  all  the  trouble,  hev 
fretted  an'  fretted  at  Ike  till  he  hev  determinat- 
ed ter  break  up  an'  wagon  across  the  range 
ter  Kaintucky,  whar  his  uncle  lives  in  the  hills 
thar.  Ike  hev  gin  his  cornsent  ter  go  jes'  ter 
pleasure  her,  'kase  she  air  mos'  crazed  ter  git 
Ike  away  whar  'Lijah  can't  kill  him.  Ike's 
brothers  is  a-goin',  too.  I  hearn  ez  how  they  '11 
make  a  start  at  noon  ter-morrer." 

"  They  '11  never  start  ter  Kaintucky  ter-mor- 
rer," said  Burr,  grimly.  "  They  '11  git  off,  afore 
that,  fur  hell,  stiddier  Kaintucky.  I  hev  been 
a-tryin'  ter  make  out  ter  shoot  that  thar  man 
ever  sence  that  thar  gal  war  married  ter  him, 
seven  year  ago,  —  seven  year  an'  better.  But 
what  with  her  a-foolin'  round,  an'  a-talkin',  an' 
a-goin'  on  like  she  war  distracted  —  she  run 
right  'twixt  him  an'  the  muzzle  of  my  gun 
wunst,  or  I  would  hev  hed  him  that  time  fur  sure 
—  an'  somehow  'nother  that  critter  makes  me  so 
shaky  with  her  ways  of  goin'  on  that  I  feel  like 
I  hain't  got  good  sense,  an'  can't  git  no  good 
aim  at  nuthin*.  Nex'  time,  though,  thar  '11  be  a 
differ.  She  ain't  a-goin'  ter  Kaintucky  along  of 
him  ter  be  beat  fur  nuthin'  when  he  's  drunk." 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       145 

It  was  a  pitiable  picture  presented  to  Chevis's 
open-eyed  imagination, — this  woman  standing 
for  years  between  the  two  men  she  loved :  hold- 
ing back  her  brother  from  his  vengeance  of  her 
wrongs  by  that  subtle  influence  that  shook  his 
aim  ;  and  going  into  exile  with  her  brute  of  a 
husband  when  that  influence  had  waned  and 
failed,  and  her  wrongs  were  supplemented  by 
deep  and  irreparable  injuries  to  her  brother. 
And  the  curious  moral  attitude  of  the  man  : 
the  strong  fraternal  feeling  that  alternately 
nerved  and  weakened  his  revengeful  hand. 

"We  air  goin'  thar  'bout  two  o'clock  ter- 
night,"  said  Jerry  Shaw,  "  and  wipe  out  all 
three  o'  them  Peels,  —  Ike  an'  his  two  broth- 
ers." 

"They  oughtn't  ter  be  let  live,"  reiterated 
Elijah  Burr,  moodily.  Did  he  speak  to  his 
faintly  stirring  conscience,  or  to  a  woful  premo- 
nition of  his  sister's  grief  ? 

"  They  '11  all  three  be  stiff  an'  stark  afore  day- 
break," resumed  Jerry  Shaw.  "  We  air  all  kin 
ter  'Lijah,  an'  we  air  goin'  ter  holp  him  top  off 
them  Peels.  Thar 's  ten  of  us  an'  three  o'  them, 
an'  we  won't  hev  no  trouble  'bout  it.  An'  we  '11 
bring  that  pore  critter,  Ike's  wife,  an'  her  chil- 
len  hyar  ter  stay.  She 's  welcome  ter  live  along 
of  us  till  'Lijah  kin  fix  some  sort  'n  place  fur 
her  an'  the  little  chillen.  Thar  won't  be  no 
10 


146          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

trouble  a-gittin'  rid  of  the  men  folks,  ez  thar  is 
ten  of  us  an'  three  o'  them,  an'  we  air  goin'  ter 
take  'em  in  the  night." 

There  was  a  protest  from  an  unexpected  quar- 
ter. The  whir  of  the  spinning-wheel  was 
abruptly  silenced.  "  I  don't  see  no  sense,"  said 
Celia  Shaw,  her  singing  monotone  vibrating  in 
the  sudden  lull,  —  "I  don't  see  no  sense  in 
shootin'  folks  down  like  they  war  nuthin'  better 
nor  bear,  nor  deer,  nor  suthin'  wild.  I  don't  see 
no  sense  in  it.  An'  I  never  did  see  none." 

There  was  an  astonished  pause. 

"  Shet  up,  Cely  !  Shet  up  !  "  exclaimed  Jerry 
Shaw,  in  mingled  anger  and  surprise.  "  Them 
folks  ain't  no  better  nor  bear,  nor  sech.  They 
hain't  got  no  right  ter  live,  —  them  Peels." 

"  No,  that  they  hain't !  "  said  Burr. 

"  They  is  powerful  no  'count  critters,  I 
know,"  replied  the  little  woodland  flower,  the 
firelight  bright  in  her  opaline  eyes  and  on  the 
flakes  of  burnished  gold  gleaming  in  the  dark 
masses  of  her  hair.  "  They  is  always  a-hangin' 
round  the  still  an'  a-gittin'  drunk ;  but  I  don't 
see  no  sense  in  a-huntin'  'em  down  an'  a-killin' 
'em  off.  'Pears  ter  me  like  they  air  better  nor 
the  dumb  ones.  I  don't  see  no  sense  in  shootin' 
'em." 

"  Shet  up,  Cely !    Shet  up  !  "  reiterated  Shaw. 

Celia   said  no  more.     Reginald   Chevis  was 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       147 

pleased  with  this  indication  of  her  sensibility ; 
the  other  women  —  her  mother  and  grand- 
mother —  had  heard  the  whole  recital  with  the 
utmost  indifference,  as  they  sat  by  the  fire  mo- 
notonously carding  cotton.  She  was  beyond 
her  station  in  sentiment,  he  thought.  However, 
he  was  disposed  to  recant  this  favorable  estimate 
of  her  higher  nature  when,  twice  afterward,  she 
stopped  her  work,  and,  filling  the  bottle  from 
the  keg,  pressed  it  upon  her  father,  despite  her 
unfavorable  criticism  of  the  hangers-on  of  stills. 
Nay,  she  insisted.  "  Drink  some  more,"  she 
said.  "  Ye  hain't  got  half  enough  yit."  Had 
the  girl  no  pity  for  the  already  drunken  crea- 
ture ?  She  seemed  systematically  trying  to  make 
him  even  more  helpless  than  he  was. 

He  had  fallen  into  a  deep  sleep  before  Chevis 
left  the  house,  and  the  bottle  was  circulating 
among  the  other  men  with  a  rapidity  that  boded 
little  harm  to  the  unconscious  Ike  Peel  and  his 
brothers  at  Laurel  Notch,  twenty  miles  away. 
As  Chevis  mounted  Strathspey  he  saw  the 
horses  of  Jerry  Shaw's  friends  standing  partly 
within  and  partly  without  the  blacksmith's  shop. 
They  would  stand  there  all  night,  he  thought. 
It  was  darker  when  he  commenced  the  ascent 
of  the  mountain  than  he  had  anticipated.  And 
what  was  this  driving  against  his  face,  —  rain  ? 
No,  it  was  snow.  He  had  not  started  a  moment 


148          JN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

too  soon.  But  Strathspey,  by  reason  of  fre- 
quent travel,  knew  every  foot  of  the  way,  and 
perhaps  there  would  only  be  a  flurry.  And  so 
he  went  on  steadily  up  and  up  the  wild,  wind- 
ing road  among  the  great,  bare,  black  trees  and 
the  grim  heights  and  chasms.  The  snow  fell 
fast,  —  so  fast  and  so  silently,  before  he  was 
half-way  to  the  summit  he  had  lost  the  vague 
companionship  of  the  sound  of  his  horse's  hoofs, 
now  muffled  in  the  thick  carpet  so  suddenly 
flung  upon  the  ground.  Still  the  snow  fell,  and 
when  he  had  reached  the  mountain's  brow  the 
ground  was  deeply  covered,  and  the  whole  as- 
pect of  the  scene  was  strange.  But  though  ob- 
scured by  the  fast-flying  flakes,  he  knew  that 
down  in  the  bosom  of  the  white  valley  there 
glittered  still  that  changeless  star. 

"  Still  spinning,  I  suppose,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  looked  toward  it  and  thought  of  the 
interior  of  the  log-cabin  below.  And  then  he 
turned  into  the  tent  to  enjoy  his  cigar,  his  aes- 
thetic reveries,  and  a  bottle  of  wine. 

But  the  wheel  was  no  longer  awhirl.  Both 
music  and  musician  were  gone.  Toiling  along 
the  snow-filled  mountain  ways  ;  struggling  with 
the  fierce  gusts  of  wind  as  they  buffeted  and 
hindered  her,  and  fluttered  derisively  among 
her  thin,  worn,  old  garments ;  shivering  as  the 
driving  flakes  came  full  into  the  pale,  calm  face, 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.  149 

and  fell  in  heavier  and  heavier  wreaths  upon  the 
dappled  calico  sun-bonnet ;  threading  her  way 
through  unfrequented  woodland  paths,  that  she 
might  shorten  the  distance  ;  now  deftly  on  the 
verge  of  a  precipice,  whence  a  false  step  of 
those  coarse,  rough  shoes  would  fling  her  into 
unimaginable  abysses  below ;  now  on  the  sides 
of  steep  ravines,  falling  sometimes  with  the 
treacherous,  sliding  snow,  but  never  faltering; 
tearing  her  hands  on  the  shrubs  and  vines  she 
clutched  to  help  her  forward,  and  bruised  and 
bleeding,  but  still  going  on  ;  trembling  more 
than  with  the  cold,  but  never  turning  back, 
when  a  sudden  noise  in  the  terrible  loneliness 
of  the  sheeted  woods  suggested  the  close  prox- 
imity of  a  wild  beast,  or  perhaps,  to  her  igno- 
rant, superstitious  mind,  a  supernatural  pres- 
ence, —  thus  she  journeyed  on  her  errand  of 
deliverance. 

Her  fluttering  breath  came  and  went  in 
quick  gasps  ;  her  failing  limbs  wearily  dragged 
through  the  deep  drifts ;  the  cruel  winds  untir- 
ingly lashed  her ;  the  snow  soaked  through  the 
faded  green  cotton  dress  to  the  chilled  white 
skin,  —  it  seemed  even  to  the  dull  blood  cours- 
ing feebly  through  her  freezing  veins.  But  she 
had  small  thought  for  herself  during  those 
long,  slow  hours  of  endurance  and  painful  ef- 
fort. Her  pale  lips  moved  now  and  then  with 


150          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

muttered  speculations  :  how  the  time  went  by  ; 
whether  they  had  discovered  her  absence  at 
home ;  and  whether  the  fleeter  horsemen  were 
even  now  ploughing  their  way  through  the 
longer,  winding  mountain  road.  Her  only  hope 
was  to  outstrip  their  speed.  Her  prayer  —  this 
untaught  being!  —  she  had  no  prayer,  except 
perhaps  her  life,  the  life  she  was  so  ready  to  im- 
peril. She  had  no  high,  cultured  sensibilities 
to  sustain  her.  There  was  no  instinct  stirring 
within  her  that  might  have  nerved  her  to  save 
her  father's,  or  her  brother's,  or  a  benefactor's 
life.  She  held  the  creatures  that  she  would 
have  died  to  warn  in  low  estimation,  and  spoke 
of  them  with  reprobation  and  contempt.  She 
had  known  no  religious  training,  holding  up 
forever  the  sublimest  ideal.  The  measureless 
mountain  wilds  were  not  more  infinite  to  her 
than  that  great  mystery.  Perhaps,  without 
any  philosophy,  she  stood  upon  the  basis  of  a 
common  humanity. 

When  the  silent  horsemen,  sobered  by  the 
chill  night  air  and  the  cold  snow,  made  their 
cautious  approach  to  the  little  porch  of  Ike 
Peel's  log-hut  at  Laurel  Notch,  there  was  a 
thrill  of  dismayed  surprise  among  them  to  dis- 
cover the  door  standing  half  open,  the  house 
empty  of  its  scanty  furniture  and  goods,  its 
owners  fled,  and  the  very  dogs  disappeared; 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       151 

<mly,  on  the  rough  stones  before  the  dying  fire, 
Celia  Shaw,  falling  asleep  and  waking  by  fitful 
starts. 

"Jerry  Shaw  swore  ez  how  he  would  hev 
shot  that  thar  gal  o'  his'n,  —  that  thar  Cely," 
Hi  Bates  said  to  Chevis  and  Varney  the  next 
day,  when  he  recounted  the  incident,  "  only  he 
did  n't  think  she  hed  her  right  mind  ;  a-walkin' 
through  this  hyar  deep  snow  full  fifteen  mile, 
—  it 's  fifteen  mile  by  the  short  cut  ter  Laurel 
Notch,  —  ter  git  Ike  Peel's  folks  off  'fore  'Li- 
jah  an'  her  dad  could  come  up  an'  settle  Ike 
an'  his  brothers.  Leastways,  'Lijah  an'  the 
t'others,  fur  Jerry  hed  got  so  drunk  he  could  n't 
go ;  he  war  dead  asleep  till  ter-day,  when  they 
kern  back  a-fotchin'  the  gal  with  'em.  That 
thar  Cely  Shaw  never  did  look  ter  me  like  she 
hed  good  sense,  nohow.  Always  looked  like 
she  war  queer  an'  teched  in  the  head." 

There  was  a  furtive  gleam  of  speculation  on 
the  dull  face  of  the  mountaineer  when  his  two 
listeners  broke  into  enthusiastic  commendation 
of  the  girl's  high  heroism  and  courage.  The 
man  of  ledgers  swore  that  he  had  never  heard 
of  anything  so  fine,  and  that  he  himself  would 
walk  through  fifteen  miles  of  snow  and  mid- 
night wilderness  for  the  honor  of  shaking  hands 
with  her.  There  was  that  keen  thrill  about 
their  hearts  sometimes  felt  in  crowded  theatres, 


152          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

responsive  to  the  cleverly  simulated  heroism  of 
the  boards ;  or  in  listening  to  a  poet's  mid-air 
song ;  or  in  looking  upon  some  grand  and  enno- 
bling phase  of  life  translated  on  a  great  paint- 
er's canvas. 

Hi  Bates  thought  that  perhaps  they  too  were 
a  little  "  teched  in  the  head." 

There  had  fallen  upon  Chevis  a  sense  of  deep 
humiliation.  Celia  Shaw  had  heard  no  more 
of  that  momentous  conversation  than  he ;  a 
wide  contrast  was  suggested.  He  began  to 
have  a  glimmering  perception  that  despite  all 
his  culture,  his  sensibility,  his  yearnings  toward 
humanity,  he  was  not  so  high  a  thing  in  the 
scale  of  being ;  that  he  had  placed  a  false  esti- 
mate upon  himself.  He  had  looked  down  on 
her  with  a  mingled  pity  for  her  dense  igno- 
rance, her  coarse  surroundings,  her  low  station, 
and  a  dilettante's  delight  in  picturesque  effects, 
and  with  no  recognition  of  the  moral  splendors 
of  that  star  in  the  valley.  A  realization,  too, 
was  upon  him  that  fine  feelings  are  of  most 
avail  as  the  motive  power  of  fine  deeds. 

He  and  his  friend  went  down  together  to 
the  little  log-cabin.  There  had  been  only  jeers 
and  taunts  and  reproaches  for  Celia  Shaw  from 
her  own  people.  These  she  had  expected,  and 
she  had  stolidly  borne  them.  But  she  listened 
to  the  fine  speeches  of  the  city-bred  men  with 


THE  STAR  IN  THE  VALLEY.       153 

a  vague  wonderment  on  her  flower-like  face,  — • 
whiter  than  ever  to-day. 

"  It  was  a  splendid  —  a  noble  thing  to  do," 
said  Varney,  warmly. 

"I  shall  never  forget  it,"  said  Chevis,  "it 
will  always  be  like  a  sermon  to  me." 

There  was  something  more  that  Reginald 
Chevis  never  forgot :  the  look  on  her  face  as  he 
turned  and  left  her  forever ;  for  he  was  on  his 
way  back  to  his  former  life,  so  far  removed 
from  her  and  all  her  ideas  and  imaginings.  He 
pondered  long  upon  that  look  in  her  inscruta- 
ble eyes,  —  was  it  suffering,  some  keen  pang  of 
despair?  —  as  he  rode  down  and  down  the  val- 
ley, all  unconscious  of  the  heart-break  he  left 
behind  him.  He  thought  of  it  often  afterward  ; 
he  never  penetrated  its  mystery. 

He  heard  of  her  only  once  again.  On  the 
eve  of  a  famous  day,  when  visiting  the  outposts 
of  a  gallant  corps,  Reginald  Chevis  happened 
to  recognize  in  one  of  the  pickets  the  gawky 
mountaineer  who  had  been  his  guide  through 
those  autumnal  woods  so  far  away.  Hi  Bates 
was  afterward  sought  out  and  honored  with  an 
interview  in  the  general's  tent;  for  the  acci- 
dental encounter  had  evoked  many  pleasant 
reminiscences  in  Chevis's  mind,  and  among 
other  questions  he  wished  to  ask  was  what  had 
become  of  Jerry  Shaw's  daughter. 


154  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

"  She  's  dead,  —  long  ago,"  answered  Hi 
Bates.  "  She  died  afore  the  winter  war  over 
the  year  ez  ye  war  a-huntin'  thar.  She  never 
hed  good  sense  ter  my  way  o'  thinkin',  nohow, 
an'  one  night  she  run  away,  an'  walked  'bout 
fifteen  mile  through  a  big  snow-storm.  Some 
say  it  settled  on  her  chist.  Anyhow,  she  jes' 
sorter  fell  away  like  afterward,  an'  never  held 
up  her  head  good  no  more.  She  always  war  a 
slim  little  critter,  an'  looked  like  she  war 
teched  in  the  head." 

There  are  many  things  that  suffer  unheeded 
in  those  mountains  :  the  birds  that  freeze  on 
the  trees ;  the  wounded  deer  that  leaves  its 
cruel  kind  to  die  alone ;  the  despairing,  flying 
fox  with  its  pursuing  train  of  savage  dogs  and 
men.  And  the  jutting  crag  whence  had  shone 
the  camp-fire  she  had  so  often  watched  —  her 
star,  set  forever  — looked  far  over  the  valley  be- 
neath, where  in  one  of  those  sad  little  rural 
graveyards  she  had  been  laid  so  long  ago. 

But  Reginald  Chevis  has  never  forgotten  her. 
Whenever  he  sees  the  earliest  star  spring  into 
the  evening  sky,  he  remembers  the  answering 
red  gleam  of  that  star  in  the  valley. 


ELECTIONEERS'    ON   BIG  INJUN 
MOUNTING. 


"AN*  ef  ye  '11  believe  me,  he  hev lied  the  face 
an'  grace  ter  come  a-prowlin'  up  hyar  on  Big 
Injun  Mounting,  electioneerin'  fur  votes,  an' 
a-shakin'  hands  with  every  darned  critter  on 
it." 

To  a  superficial  survey  the  idea  of  a  constit- 
uency might  have  seemed  incongruous  enough 
with  these  rugged  wilds.  The  July  sunshine 
rested  on  stupendous  crags;  the  torrent  was 
bridged  only  by  a  rainbow  hovering  above  the 
cataract ;  in  all  the  wide  prospect  of  valley  and 
far-stretching  Alleghany  ranges  the  wilderness 
was  broken  by  no  field  or  clearing.  But  over 
this  gloomy  primeval  magnificence  of  nature 
universal  suffrage  brooded  like  a  benison,  and 
candidates  munificently  endowed  with  "  face 
an'  grace"  were  wont  to  thread  the  tangled 
mazes  of  Big  Injun  Mounting. 

The  presence  of  voters  in  this  lonely  region 
was  further  attested  by  a  group  of  teamsters, 


156          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

who  had  stopped  at  the  wayside  spring  that  the 
oxen  might  drink,  and^in  the  interval  of  wait- 
ing had  given  themselves  over  to  the  interest  of 
local  politics  and  the  fervor  of  controversy. 

"  Waal,  they  tells  me  ez  he  made  a  power- 
ful good  'torney-gineral  las'  time.  An'  it  'pears 
ter  me  ez  the  mounting  folks  oughter  vote  fur 
him  agin  them  town  cusses,  'kase  he  war  born 
an'  raised  right  down  hyar  on  the  slope  of  Big 
Injun  Mounting.  He  never  lef  thar  till  he  war 
twenty  year  old,  when  he  went  ter  live  yander 
at  Carrick  Court  House,  an'  arter  a  while  tuk 
ter  study  in'  of  law." 

The  last  speaker  was  the  most  uncouth  of  the 
rough  party,  and  poverty-stricken  as  to  this 
world's  goods.  Instead  of  a  wagon,  he  had  only 
a  rude  "  slide  ;  "  his  lean  oxen  were  thrust  from 
the  water  by  the  stronger  and  better  fed  teams  ; 
and  his  argument  in  favor  of  the  reelection  of 
the  attorney  for  the  State  in  this  judicial  circuit 
' —  called  in  the  vernacular  "  the  'torney-gin- 
eral "  —  was  received  with  scant  courtesy. 

"  Ye  're  a  darned  fool  ter  be  braggin'  that 
Rufus  Chadd  air  a  mounting  boy !  "  exclaimed 
Abel  Stubbs,  scornfully.  "  He  hev  hed  the  in- 
surance ter  git  ez  thick  ez  he  kin  with  them 
town  folks  down  thar  at  Ephesus,  an'  he  hev 
made  ez  hard  speeches  agin  everybody  that  war 
tuk  ter  jail  from  Big  Injun  ez  ef  he  hed  never 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  157 

laid  eyes  on  'em  till  that  minit ;  an'  arter  all 
that  the  mounting  folks  hev  done  fur  him,  too  ! 
'T  war  thar  vote  that  elected  him  the  fust  time 
he  run,  'kase  the  convention  put  up  that  thar 
Taylor  man,  what  nobody  knowed  nuthin'  about 
an'  jes'  despised ;  an'  the  t'  other  candidates 
would  n't  agree  ter  the  convention,  but  jes'  went 
before  the  people  ennyhow,  an'  the  vote  war  so 
split  that  Big  Injun  kerried  Rufe  Chadd  in. 
An'  what  do  he  do  ?  Ef  it  bed  n't  hev  been  fur 
his  term  a-givin'  out  he  would  hev  jailed  the 
whole  mounting  arter  a  while  !  " 

The  dwellers  on  Big  Injun  Mounting  are  not 
the  first  rural  community  that  have  aided  in  the 
election  of  a  prosecuting  officer,  and  afterward 
have  become  wroth  with  a  fiery  wrath  because 
he  prosecutes. 

"  An'  them  town  folks,"  Abel  Stubbs  contin- 
ued, after  a  pause,  —  "  at  fust  they  war  might- 
ily interrupted  'bout  the  way  that  the  election 
hed  turned  out,  an'  they  promised  the  Lord  that 
they  would  never  butt  agin  a  convention  no 
more  while  they  lived  in  this  life.  Hevin'  a 
mounting  lawyer  over  them  town  folks  in  Col- 
bury  an'  Ephesus  war  mighty  humbling  ter  thar 
pride,  I  reckon ;  nobody  hed  never  hearn  tell  o' 
sech  a  thing  afore.  But  when  these  hyar  horse- 
thieves  an'  mounting  fellers  ginerally  got  ter 
goin'  in  sech  a  constancy  ter  the  pen'tiary,  them 


158          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

town  folks  changed  thar  tune  'bout  Rufe  Chadd. 
They  'lowed  ez  they  hed  never  bed  sech  a 
good  'torney-gineral  afore.  An'  now  they  air 
goin'  ter  hev  a  new  election,  an'  hyar  is  Rufe 
a-leadin'  off  at  the  head  of  the  convention  ez 
graceful  ez  ef  he  hed  never  butted  agin  it  in  his 
life." 

"Waal,"  drawled  a  heavy  fellow,  speaking 
for  the  first  time,  —  a  rigid  soul,  who  would  fain 
vote  the  straight  ticket,  —  "I  won't  support 
Rufe  Chadd ;  an'  yit  I  dunno  how  I  kin  git  my 
cornsent  ter  vote  agin  the  nominee." 

"  Rufe  Chadd  air  goin'  ter  be  beat  like  hell 
broke  loose,"  said  Abel  Stubbs,  hopefully. 

"  He  willef  Big  Injun  hev  enny  say  so  'bout 
'n  it,"  rejoined  the  rigid  voter.  "  I  hev  never 
seen  a  man  ez  onpopular  ez  he  is  nowadays  on 
this  mounting." 

"  I  hev  hearn  tell  that  the  kin-folks  of  some 
of  them  convicts,  what  he  made  sech  hard 
speeches  agin,  hev  swore  ter  git  even  with  him 
yit,"  said  Abel  Stubbs.  "  Rufe  Chadd  hev  been 
shot  at  twice  in  the  woods  sence  he  kem  up  on 
Big  Injun  Mounting.  I  seen  him  yestiddy,  an' 
he  tole  me  so  ;  an'  he  showed  me  his  hat  whar 
a  rifle  ball  hed  done  gone  through.  An'  I  axed 
him  ef  he  warn't  afeard  of  all  them  men  what 
hed  sech  a  grudge  agin  him.  4  Mister  Stubbs,' 
he  say,  sorter  saft,  —  ye  know  them  's  the  ways 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  159 

he  hev  Famed  in  Ephesus  an'  Colbury  an'  sech, 
an'  he  hed,  afore  he  ever  left  Big  Injun  Mount- 
ing, the  sassiest  tongue  that  ever  wagged,  — 
*  Mister  Stubbs,'  Rufe  say,  mighty  perlite,  'fool- 
in'  with  me  is  like  makin'  faces  at  a  rattlesnake : 
it  may  be  satisfying  to  the  feelin's,  but  't  ain't 
safe.'  That  's  what  Rufe  tole  ter  me." 

"  'T  would  pleasure  me  some  ter  see  Rufe 
Chadd  agin,"  said  the  driver  of  the  slide.  "  Me 
an'  him  air  jes'  the  same  age,  —  thirty-three 
year.  We  used  ter  go  huntin'  tergether  some. 
They  tells  me  ez  he  hev  app'inted  ter  speak 
termorrer  at  the  Settlemint  along  of  them 
t'other  five  candidates  what  air  a-runnin'  agin 
him.  I  likes  ter  hear  him  speak ;  he  knocks 
things  up  somehow." 

"  He  did  talk  mighty  sharp  an'  stingin'  the 
fust  time  he  war  electioneerin'  on  Big  Injun 
Mounting,"  the  rigid  voter  reluctantly  admit- 
ted ;  "  but  mebbe  he  hev  f urgot  how  sence  he 
hev  done  been  livin'  with  them  town  folks." 

"  Ef  ye  wants  ter  know  whether  Rufe  Chadd 
hev  f  urgot  how  ter  talk,  jes'  take  ter  thievin' 
of  horses  an'  sech,  will  ye ! "  exclaimed  Abel 
Stubbs,  with  an  emphatic  nod.  "  Ye  oughter 
hev  hearn  the  tale  my  brother  brung  from  the 
court-house  at  Ephesus  when  Josh  Green  war 
tried.  He  said  Rufe  jes'  tuk  that  jury  out  'n 
tharselves ;  an'  he  gits  jes'  sech  a  purchase  on 


160          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

every  jury  he  speaks  afore.  My  brother  says 
he  believes  that  ef  Rufe  hed  gin  the  word,  that 
jury  would  hev  got  out  'n  thar  cheers  an'  throt- 
tled Josh.  It  's  a  mighty  evil  sort  'n  gift,  — 
this  hyar  way  that  Rufe  talks." 

"  Waal,  his  tongue  can't  keep  the  party  from 
bein'  beat.  I  hates  ter  see  it  disgraced  agin," 
said  the  rigid  voter.  "  But  law,  I  can't  stand 
hyar  all  day  jo  win'  'bout  Rufus  Chadd !  I  hev 
got  my  wheat  ter  thrash  this  week,  though  I 
don't  expec'  ter  make  more  'n  enough  fur  seed 
fur  nex'  year,  —  ef  that.  I  must  be  joltin' 
along." 

The  ox-carts  rumbled  slowly  down  the  steep 
hill,  the  slide  continued  its  laborious  ascent, 
and  the  forest  was  left  once  more  to  the  fitful 
stir  of  the  wind  and  the  ceaseless  pulsations  of 
the  falling  torrent.  The  shadows  of  the  oak 
leaves  moved  to  and  fro  with  dazzling  effects 
of  iuterfulgent  sunbeams.  Afar  off  the  blue 
mountains  shimmered  through  the  heated  air; 
but  how  cool  was  this  clear  rush  of  emerald  wa- 
ter and  the  bounding  white  spray  of  the  cata- 
ract !  The  sudden  flight  of  a  bird  cleft  the 
rainbow ;  there  was  a  flash  of  moisture  on  his 
swift  wings,  and  he  left  his  wild,  sweet  cry 
echoing  far  behind  him.  Beetling  high  above 
the  stream,  the  crags  seemed  to  touch  the  sky. 
One  glance  up  and  up  those  towering,  majestic 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  161 

steeps,  —  how  it  lifted  the  soul !  The  Settle- 
ment, perched  upon  the  apparently  inaccessible 
heights,  was  not  visible  from  the  road  below. 
It  cowered  back  affrighted  from  the  verge  of  the 
great  cliff  and  the  grimly  yawning  abysses. 
The  huts,  three  or  four  in  number,  were  all 
silent,  and  might  have  been  all  tenantless,  so 
lonely  was  their  aspect.  Behind  them  rose  the 
dense  forest,  filling  the  background.  In  a  rush- 
bottomed  chair  before  the  little  store  was  the 
only  human  creature  to  be  seen  in  the  hamlet, 
—  a  man  whose  appearance  was  strangely  at  va- 
riance with  his  surroundings.  He  had  the  long, 
lank  frame  of  the  mountaineer  ;  but  instead  of 
the  customary  brown  jeans  clothes,  he  wore  a 
suit  of  blue  flannel,  and  a  dark  straw  hat  was 
drawn  over  his  brow.  This  simple  attire  and 
the  cigar  that  he  smoked  had  given  great  of- 
fense to  the  already  prejudiced  dwellers  on  Big 
Injun  Mounting.  It  was  not  deemed  meet 
that  Rufe  Chadd  should  "  git  tuk  up  with  them 
town  ways,  an'  sot  hisself  ter  wearin'  of  store- 
clothes."  His  face  was  a  great  contrast  to  the 
faces  of  tn*e  stolid  mountaineers.  It  was  keenly 
chiseled  ;  the  constant  friction  of  thought  had 
worn  away  the  grosser  lines,  leaving  sharply 
defined  features  with  abrupt  turns  of  expres- 
sion. The  process  might  be  likened  to  the 
gradual  denudation  of  those  storied  strata  of 
11 


162          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

his  mountains  by  the  momentum  of  their  tor- 
rents. 

And  here  was  no  quiet  spirit.  It  could  brook 
neither  defeat  nor  control ;  conventional  barri- 
ers went  down  before  it ;  and  thus  some  years 
ago  it  had  come  to  pass  that  a  raw  fellow  from 
the  unknown  wildernesses  of  the  circuit  was 
precipitated  upon  it  as  the  attorney  for  the 
State.  A  startling  sensation  had  awaited  the 
dull  court-rooms  of  the  villages.  The  moun- 
taineer seemed  to  have  brought  from  his  rugged 
heights  certain  subtle  native  instincts,  and  the 
wily  doublings  of  the  fox,  the  sudden  savage 
spring  of  the  catamount,  the  deadly  sinuous  ap- 
proach of  the  copperhead,  were  displayed  with 
a  frightful  effect  translated  into  human  antago- 
nism. There  was  a  great  awakening  of  the 
somnolent  bar  ;  counsel  for  the  defense  became 
eager,  active,  zealous,  but  the  juries  fell  under 
his  domination,  as  the  weak  always  submit  to 
the  strong.  Those  long-drawn  cases  that  hang 
on  from  term  to  term  because  of  faint-hearted 
tribunals,  too  merciful  to  convict,  too  just  to  ac- 
quit, vanished  as  if  by  magic  from  tne  docket. 
The  besom  of  the  law  swept  the  country,  and 
his  name  was  a  terror  and  a  threat. 

His  brethren  of  the  bar  held  him  in  some- 
what critical  estimation.  It  was  said  that  his 
talents  were  not  of  a  high  order ;  that  he  knew 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  163 

no  law  ;  that  he  possessed  only  a  remarkable 
dexterity  with  the  few  broad  principles  familiar 
to  him,  and  a  certain  swift  suppleness  in  their 
application,  alike  effectual  and  imposing.  He 
was  a  natural  orator,  they  admitted.  His  suc- 
cess lay  in  his  influence  on  a  jury,  and  his  influ- 
ence on  a  jury  was  due  to  a  magnetic  earnest- 
ness and  so  strong  a  belief  in  his  own  powers 
that  every  word  carried  conviction  with  it.  But 
he  did  not  see  in  its  entirety  the  massive  grand- 
eur of  that  greatest  monument  of  human  intel- 
lect known  as  the  common  law  of  England. 

In  the  face  of  all  detraction,  however,  there 
were  the  self-evident  facts  of  his  success  and  the 
improvement  in  the  moral  atmosphere  wrought 
during  his  term  of  office.  He  was  thinking  of 
these  things  as  he  sat  with  his  absorbed  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  horizon,  and  of  the  change 
in  himself  since  he  had  left  his  humble  home 
on  the  slope  of  Big  Injun  Mounting.  There 
he  had  lived  seventeen  years  in  ignorance  of 
the  alphabet ;  he  was  the  first  of  his  name  who 
could  write  it.  From  an  almost  primitive  state 
he  had  overtaken  the  civilization  of  Ephesus 
and  Colbury,  —  no  great  achievement,  it  might 
seem  to  a  sophisticated  imagination  ;  but  the 
mountains  were  a  hundred  years  behind  the 
progress  of  those  centres.  His  talents  had 
burst  through  the  stony  crust  of  circumstance, 


164         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

like  the  latent  fires  of  a  volcano.  And  he  had 
plans  for  the  future.  Only  a  short  while  ago 
he  had  been  confident  when  he  thought  of 
them  ;  now  they  were  hampered  by  the  great 
jeopardy  of  his  reelection,  because  of  the  egre- 
gious blindness  that  could  not  distinguish  duty 
from  malice,  justice  from  persecution.  He  had 
felt  the  strength  of  education  and  civilization ; 
he  was  beginning  to  feel  the  terrible  strength 
of  ignorance.  His  faith  in  his  own  powers  was 
on  the  wane.  He  had  experienced  a  suffocat- 
ing sense  of  impotence  when,  in  stumping  Big 
Injun  Mounting,  he  had  been  called  upon  by  the 
meagre  but  vociferous  crowd  to  j  ustif y  the  hard 
bearing  of  the  prosecution  upon  Josh  Green 
"fur  stealin'  of  Squire  Bibb's  old  gray  mare, 
that  ye  knows,  Rufe,  —  fur  ye  hev  plowed  with 
her,  —  war  n't  wuth  more  'n  ten  dollars.  Ef 
Josh  bed  n't  been  in  the  dark,  he  would  n't  hev 
teched  sech  a  pore  old  critter.  Tell  us  'bout  'n 
seven  year  in  the  pen'tiary  fur  a  mare  wuth 
ten  dollars."  What  possibility  —  even  with 
Chadd's  wordy  dexterity  —  of  satisfying  such 
demands  as  this !  He  found  that  the  strength 
of  ignorance  lies  in  its  blundering  brutality. 
And  he  found,  too,  that  mental  supremacy  does 
not  of  its  inherent  nature  always  aspire,  but 
can  be  bent  downward  to  low  ends.  The  op- 
posing candidates  made  capital  of  these  illogi- 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  165 

cal  attacks;  they  charged  him  with  his  most 
brilliant  exploits  as  ingenious  perversions  of 
the  law  and  attempts  upon  the  liberties  of  the 
people.  Chadd  began  to  despair  of  dissipating 
the  prejudice  and  ignorance  so  readily  crystal- 
lized by  his  opponents,  and  the  only  savage  in- 
stinct left  to  him  was  to  die  game.  He  justi- 
fied his  past  conduct  by  the  curt  declaration 
that  he  had  done  his  duty  according  to  the  law, 
and  he  asked  the  votes  of  his  fellow-citizens 
with  an  arrogant  hauteur  worthy  of  Coriolanus. 
The  afternoon  was  wearing  away ;  the  length- 
ening shadows  were  shifting ;  the  solitary  fig- 
ure that  had  been  motionless  in  the  shade  was 
now  motionless  in  the  golden  sunshine.  A 
sound  broke  upon  the  air  other  than  the  muf- 
fled thunder  of  the  falls  and  the  droning  reiter- 
ation of  the  katydid.  There  came  from  the 
rocky  path  threading  the  forest  the  regular 
beat  of  horses'  hoofs,  and  in  a  few  moments 
three  men  rode  into  the  clearing  that  sloped  to 
the  verge  of  the  cliff.  The  first  faint  footfall 
was  a  spell  to  wake  the  Settlement  to  sudden 
life :  sundry  feminine  faces  were  thrust  out  of 
the  rude  windows ;  bevies  of  lean-limbed,  tow- 
headed,  unkempt  children  started  up  from  un- 
expected nooks ;  the  store-keeper  strolled  to  the 
door,  and  stood  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
leaning  heavily  against  the  frame ;  and  Rufus 


166          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Chadd  changed  his  position  with  a  slow,  loung- 
ing motion,  and  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  road. 

"  Waal,"  said  the  store-keeper,  with  frank 
criticism,  as  the  trio  came  in  sight,  "  Isaac  Bo- 
ker  's  drunk  agin.  It 's  the  natur'  of  the  crit- 
ter, I  'm  a-thinkin'.  He  hev  been  ter  the  still, 
ez  sure  ez  ye  air  born.  I  hopes  't  ain't  a  dan- 
cin'-drunk he  hev  got.  The  las'  time  he  hed  a 
dancin'-drunk,  he  jes'  bounced  up  an'  down  the 
floor,  an'  hollered  an'  sung  an'  sech,  an'  made 
sech  a  disturbament  that  the  Settle??im£  war 
kep'  awake  till  daybreak,  mighty  nigh.  'T  war 
mighty  pore  en  joy  mint  for  the  Settle  mint. 
'T  war  like  sittin'  up  with  the  sick  an'  dead, 
stiddier  along  of  a  happy  critter  like  him.  I  'in 
powerful  sorry  fur  his  wife,  'kase  he  air  mighty 
rough  ter  her  when  he  air  drunk ;  he  cut  her 
once  a  toler'ble  bad  slash.  She  hev  hed  ter  do 
all  the  work  fur  four  year,  —  plowin',  an'  chop- 
pin'  wood,  an  cookin',  an'  washin',  an'  sech.  It 
hev  aged  her  some.  An'  all  her  chillen  is  gals, 
—  little  gals.  Boys,  now,  mought  grow  some 
help,  but  gals  is  more  no  'count  the  bigger  they 
gits.  She  air  a  tried  woman,  surely.  Isaac  is 
drunk  ez  a  constancy,  —  dancin'-drunk,  mos'ly. 
Nuthin'  kin  stop  him." 

"  A  good  thrashing  would  help  him  a  little, 
I  'm  thinking,"  drawled  the  lawyer.  "  And  if 
I  lived  here  as  a  constancy  I  'd  give  it  to  him 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  167 

the  first  sober  spell  he  had."  His  speech  was 
slow ;  his  voice  was  spiritless  and  languid ;  he 
still  possessed  the  tone  and  idiom  of  the  moun- 
taineer, but  he  had  lost  the  characteristic  pro- 
nunciation, more  probably  from  the  influence  of 
other  associations  than  an  appreciation  of  its  in- 
correctness. 

"  That  ain't  the  right  sort  o'  sawder  fur  a 
candidate,  Rufe,"  the  store-keeper  admonished 
him.  "  An'  't  ain't  safe  no  how  fur  sech  a  slim, 
stringy  boy  ez  ye  air  ter  talk  that  way  'bout  'n 
Isaac  Boker.  He  air  a  tremenjous  man,  an'  ez 
strong  ez  an  ox." 

"  I  can  thrash  any  man  who  beats  his  wife," 
protested  the  officer  of  the  law.  "  I  don't  see 
how  the  Settlement  gets  its  own  consent  to 
let  that  sort  of  thing  go  on." 

"  She  air  his  wife,"  said  the  store-keeper,  who 
was  evidently  of  conservative  tendencies.  "  An' 
she  air  powerful  tuk  up  with  him.  I  hev  hearn 
her  'low  ez  he  air  better  dancin'-drunk  than 
other  men  sober.  She  could  hev  married  other 
men ;  she  did  n't  suffer  with  hevin'  no  ch'ice." 

"  He  ought  to  be  put  under  lock  and  key," 
said  Chadd.  "  That  would  sober  him.  I  wish 
these  dancin'-drunk  fellows  could  be  sent  to  the 
state-prison.  I  could  make  a  jury  think  ten 
years  was  almost  too  good  for  that  wife-beating 
chap.  I  'd  like  to  see  him  get  away  from  me." 


168          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

There  was  a  certain  calculating  cruelty  in  his 
face  as  he  said  this.  He  was  animated  by  no 
chivalric  impulse  to  protect  the  weak  and  help- 
less ;  the  spirit  roused  within  him  was  rather 
the  instinct  of  the  beast  of  prey.  The  store- 
keeper looked  askance  at  him.  In  his  mental 
review  of  the  changes  wrought  in  the  past  few 
years  there  was  one  that  had  escaped  Rufus 
Chadd's  attention.  The  process  was  insinuating 
and  gradual,  but  the  result  was  bold  and  obvi- 
ous. In  the  constant  opposition  in  which  he 
was  placed  to  criminals,  in  the  constant  contem- 
plation of  the  worst  phases  of  human  nature,  in 
the  active  effort  which  his  duty  required  to 
bring  the  perpetrators  of  all  foul  deeds  to  jus- 
tice, he  had  grown  singularly  callous  and  piti- 
less. The  individual  criminal  had  been  merged 
in  the  abstract  idea  of  crime.  After  the  first 
few  cases  he  had  been  able  to  banish  the  visions 
of  the  horrors  brought  upon  other  lives  than 
that  of  the  prisoner  by  the  verdict  of  guilty. 
Mother,  wife,  children,  —  these  pale,  pursuing 
phantoms  were  exorcised  by  prosaic  custom,  and 
his  steely  insensibility  made  him  the  master  of 
many  a  harrowing  court-room  scene. 

46  That  would  be  a  mighty  pore  favor  ter  his 
wife,"  said  the  store-keeper,  after  a  pause. 
44  She  hed  ruther  be  beat." 

The  three  men  had  dismounted,  hitched  their 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  169 

horses,  and  were  now  approaching  the  store. 
Rufus  Chadd  rose  to  shake  hands  with  the  fore- 
most of  the  party.  The  quick  fellow  was  easily 
schooled,  and  the  store-keeper's  comment  upon 
his  lack  of  policy  induced  him  to  greet  the 
new-comers  with  a  greater  show  of  cordiality 
than  he  had  lately  practiced  toward  his  constit- 
uents. 

"  I  never  looked  ter  find  ye  hyar  this  soon, 
Rufe,"  said  one  of  the  arrivals.  "  What  hev 
ye  done  with  the  t'other  candidates  ?  " 

"  I  left  them  behind,  as  I  always  do,"  said 
Chadd,  laughing,  "  and  as  I  expect  to  do  again 
next  Thursday  week,  if  I  can  get  you  to  prom- 
ise to  vote  for  me." 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  vote  fur  ye,  —  nary  time," 
interpolated  Boker,  as  he  reeled  heavily  for- 
ward. 

"  Well,  I  'm  sorry  for  that,"  said  Chadd, 
with  the  candidate's  long-suffering  patience. 
"Why?" 

Isaac  Boker  felt  hardly  equal  to  argument, 
but  he  steadied  himself  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
looked  vacantly  into  the  eyes  of  his  interlocutor 
for  some  pointed  inspiration  ;  perhaps  he  caught 
there  an  intimation  of  the  contempt  in  which  he 
was  held.  He  still  hesitated,  but  with  a  sudden 
anger  inflaming  his  bloated  face.  Chadd  waited 
a  moment  for  a  reply ;  then  he  turned  care- 


170          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

lessly  away,  saying  that  he  would  stroll  about 
a  little,  as  sitting  still  so  long  was  fatiguing. 

"  Ef  ye  war  whar  ye  oughter  be,  a-follerin'  of 
the  plow,"  said  Isaac  Boker,  "  ye  wouldn't  git 
a  chance  ter  tire  yerself  a-sittin'  in  a  cheer." 

"I  don't  hold  myself  too  high  for  plow- 
ing," replied  Chadd,  in  a  conciliatory  manner. 
"  Plowing  is  likely  work  for  any  able-bodied 
man."  This  speech  was  unlucky.  There  was 
in  it  an  undercurrent  of  suggestion  to  Isaac  Bo- 
ker's  suspicious  conscience.  He  thought  Chadd 
intended  a  covert  allusion  to  his  own  indolence 
in  the  field,  and  his  wife's  activity  as  a  substi- 
tute. "  It  was  only  an  accident  that  took  me 
out  of  the  furrow,"  Chadd  continued. 

"  'T  war  a  killin'  accident  ter  the  country," 
said  Isaac  Boker.  "  Fur  they  tells  me  that  ye 
don't  know  no  more  law  than  a  mounting  fox." 
Chadd  laughed,  but  he  sneered  too.  His  pa- 
tience was  evaporating.  Still  he  restrained  his 
irritation  by  an  effort,  and  Boker  went  on : 
"  Folks  ez  is  bred  ter  the  plow  ain't  got  the 
sense  an'  the  showin'  ter  make  peart  lawyers. 
An'  that 's  why  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  vote  fur  ye." 

This  plain  speaking  was  evidently  relished  by 
the  others ;  they  said  nothing,  but  their  low  ac- 
quiescent chuckle  demonstrated  their  opinion. 

"I  haven't  asked  you  for  your  vote,"  said 
Chadd,  sharply. 


ON  BIG   INJUN  MOUNTING.  171 

The  burly  fellow  paused  for  a  moment,  in 
stupid  surprise ;  then  his  drunken  wrath  rising, 
he  exclaimed,  "  An'  why  n't  ye  ax  me  fur  my 
vote,  then  ?  Ye  're  the  damnedest  critter  in 
this  country,  Rufe  Chadd,  ter  come  election- 
eerin'  on  Big  Injun  Mounting,  an'  a-makin'  out 
ez  I  ain't  good  enough  ter  be  axed  ter  vote 
fur  ye  I  Ye  hed  better  not  be  try  in'  ter  sot 
me  down  lower  'n  other  folks.  I  '11  break  that 
empty  cymlin'  of  a  head  of  yourn,"  and  he 
raised  his  clenched  fist. 

"  If  you  come  a  step  nearer  I  '11  throw  you 
off  the  bluff,"  said  Chadd. 

"That'll  be  a  powerful  cur'ous  tale  ter  go 
the  rounds  o'  the  mounting,"  remarked  one  of 
the  disaffected  by-standers.  "  Ye  hev  done  all 
ye  kin  ter  torment  yer  own  folks  up  hyar  on 
Big  Injun  Mounting  what  elected  ye  afore  ;  an' 
then  ye  comes  up  hyar  agin,  an'  the  fust  man 
that  says  he  won't  vote  fur  ye  must  be  flunged 
off 'n  the  bluff." 

"  Tears  ter  me,"  said  Isaac  Boker,  surlily, 
and  still  shaking  his  fist,  "  ez  thar  ain't  all  yit 
in  the  pen'tiary  that  desarves  ter  go  thar.  Bet- 
ter men  than  ye  air,  Rufe  Chadd,  hev  been 
locked  up,  an'  hung  too,  sence  ye  war  elected 
ter  office." 

There  was  a  sudden  change  in  the  lawyer's 
attitude  ;  a  strong  tension  of  the  muscles,  as  of 


172          IN  THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

a  wild-cat  ready  to  spring ;  the  quickening  oi 
his  blood  showed  in  his  scarlet  face ;  there  was 
a  fiery  spark  in  his  darkening  eyes. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Rufe,"  said  one  of  the  look- 
ers-on hastily.  "  Ye  ought  n't  ter  git  ter  fightin' 
with  a  drunken  man.  Jes'  walk  yerself  off  fur 
a  while." 

"  Oh,  he  can  say  what  he  likes  while  he  's 
drunk,"  replied  Chadd,  with  a  short,  scornful 
laugh.  "But  I  tell  you,  now,  he  had  better 
keep  his  fists  for  his  wife." 

The  others  gathered  about  the  great,  massive 
fellow,  who  was  violently  gesticulating  and  inco- 
herently asserting  his  offended  dignity.  Chadd 
strolled  away  toward  the  gloomy  woods,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  eyes  bent  upon 
the  ground.  Glances  of  undisguised  aversion 
followed  him,  —  from  the  group  about  the  store, 
from  the  figures  in  the  windows  and  doors  of  the 
poor  dwellings,  even  from  the  half-clad  children 
who  paused  in  their  spiritless  play  to  gaze  after 
him.  He  was  vaguely  conscious  of  these  pur- 
suing looks  of  hatred,  but  only  once  he  saw  the 
universal  sentiment  expressed  in  a  face.  As  the 
long  shadows  of  the  forest  fell  upon  his  path,  he 
chanced  to  raise  his  eyes,  and  encountered  those 
of  a  woman,  standing  in  Boker's  cabin.  He 
went  on,  feeling  like  a  martyr.  The  thick  foli- 
age closed  upon  him  ;  the  sound  of  his  languid 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  173 

footsteps  died  in  the  distance,  and  the  figures 
on  the  cliff  stood  in  the  sunset  glow,  watching 
the  spot  where  he  had  disappeared,  as  silent 
and  as  motionless  as  if  they  had  fallen  under 
some  strange,  uncanny  spell. 

The  calm  of  the  woodland,  the  refreshing  aro- 
matic odors,  the  rising  wind  after  the  heat  of 
the  sultry  day,  exerted  a  revivifying  influence 
upon  the  lawyer's  spirits,  as  he  walked  on  into 
the  illimitable  solitudes  of  the  forest.  Night 
was  falling  before  he  turned  to  retrace  his  way ; 
above  the  opaque,  colorless  leaves  there  was  the 
lambent  glinting  of  a  star ;  the  fitful  plaint  of 
a  whip-poor-will  jarred  the  dark  stillness ;  gro- 
tesque black  shadows  had  mustered  strong 
among  the  huge  boles  of  the  trees.  But  he  took 
no  note  of  the  gathering  gloom ;  somehow,  his 
heart  had  grown  suddenly  light.  He  had  for- 
gotten the  drunken  wrangler  and  all  the  fretting 
turmoils  of  the  canvass  ;  once  he  caught  himself 
in  making  plans,  with  his  almost  impossible  suc- 
cess in  the  election  as  a  basis.  And  yet,  incon- 
sistently enough,  he  felt  a  dismayed  astonish- 
ment at  his  unaccountable  elation.  The  work- 
ings of  his  own  mind  and  their  unexpected 
developments  were  always  to  him  strange  phe- 
nomena. He  was  introspective  enough  to  take 
heed  of  this  inward  tumult,  and  he  had  a  shrewd 
suspicion  that  more  activity  was  there  than  in 


174          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

all  the  mental  exercitations  of  the  combined 
bench  and  bar  of  the  circuit.  But  he  harbored 
a  vague  distrust  of  this  uncontrollable  power 
within,  so  much  stronger  than  the  untutored 
creature  to  whom  it  appertained.  A  harassing 
sense  of  doubleness  often  possessed  him,  and  he 
was  torn  by  conflicting  counsels,  —  the  inherent 
inertia  and  conservatism  of  the  mountaineer, 
who  would  fain  follow  forever  the  traditional 
customs  of  his  ancestry,  and  an  alien  overwhelm- 
ing impetus,  which  carried  him  on  in  spite  of 
himself,  and  bewildered  him  with  his  own  ex- 
ploits. He  was  helpless  under  this  unreason- 
able expectation  of  success,  and  regarded  the 
mental  gymnastic  of  joyous  anticipation  with 
perplexed  surprise.  "  I  'm  fixing  a  powerful 
disappointment  for  myself,"  he  said. 

He  could  now  see,  through  the  long  vista  of 
the  road,  the  open  space  where  the  Settlement 
was  perched  upon  the  crag.  The  black,  jagged 
outline  of  the  rock  serrated  the  horizon,  and 
was  cut  sharply  into  the  delicate,  indefinable 
tints  of  the  sky.  Above  it  a  great  red  moon 
was  rising.  There  was  the  gleam  of  the  water- 
fall ;  how  did  it  give  the  sense  of  its  emerald 
green  in  the  darkness  ?  The  red,  rising  moon 
showed,  but  did  not  illumine,  the  humble  cluster 
of  log  huts  upon  the  great  cliff.  Here  and  there 
a  dim  yet  genial  flare  of  firelight  came  broadly 


ON  BIG   INJUN  MOUNTING.  175 

flickering  out  into  the  night.  It  was  darker 
still  in  the  dense  woods  from  which  the  road 
showed  this  nocturnal  picture  framed  in  the  oak 
leaves  above  his  head.  But  was  a  sudden  flash 
of  lightning  shooting  across  that  clear,  tenderly- 
tinted  sky?  He  felt  his  warm  blood  gushing 
down  his  face ;  he  had  a  dizzying  sense  of  fall- 
ing heavily ;  and  he  heard,  strangely  dulled,  a 
hoarse,  terrified  cry,  which  he  knew  he  did  not 
utter.  It  echoed  far  through  the  quiet  woods, 
startling  the  apathetic  inhabitants  of  the  Settle- 
ment, and  waking  all  the  weird  spirits  of  the 
rocks.  The  men  sitting  in  the  store  took  their 
pipes  from  their  mouths,  and  looked  at%ach 
other  in  surprise. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  newly- 
arrived  candidates,  an  Ephesus  man,  who  held 
that  the  mountains  were  not  over  and  above  safe 
for  civilized  people,  and  was  fain  to  investigate 
unaccustomed  sounds. 

"  Jes'  somebody  a-hollerin'  fur  thar  cow, 
mebbe,"  said  the  store-keeper.  "  Or  mebbe  it 
air  Isaac  Boker,  ez  gits  dancin'-drunk  wunst  in 
a  while." 

The  cry  rose  again,  filling  all  the  rocky  abysses 
and  mountain  heights  with  a  frenzied  horror. 
From  the  woods  a  dark  figure  emerged  upon 
the  crag;  it  seemed  to  speed  along  the  sky, 
blotting  out,  as  it  went,  the  moon  and  stars. 


176          IN  THE  TENNESSEE   MOUNTAINS. 

The  men  at  the  store  sprang  to  their  feet,  shaken 
by  a  speechless  agitation,  when  Isaac  Boker 
rushed  in  among  them,  suddenly  sobered,  and 
covered  with  blood. 

"  I  hev  done  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  pallid 
anguish  upon  his  bloated  face.  "I  met  him  in 
the  woods,  an'  slashed  him  ter  pieces." 

The  red  moon  turned  to  gold  in  the  sky,  and 
the  world  was  flooded  with  a  gentle  splendor ; 
and  as  the  hours  went  by  no  louder  sound  broke 
upon  the  gilded  dusk  than  the  throb  of  the  cat- 
aract, pulsing  like  the  heart  of  the  mountains, 
and  the  stir  of  the  wind  about  the  rude  hut 
where  the  wounded  man  had  been  carried. 

When  Rufus  Chadd  opened  his  eyes  upon 
the  awe-stricken  faces  that  clustered  about  the 
bed,  he  had  no  need  to  be  reminded  of  what  had 
happened.  The  wave  of  life,  which  it  seemed 
would  have  carried  him  so  far,  had  left  him 
stranded  here  in  the  ebb,  while  all  the  world 
sailed  on. 

"  They  hev  got  Isaac  Boker  tied  hard  an' 
fast,  Rufe,"  said  the  store-keeper,  in  an  attempt 
to  reply  to  the  complex  changes  of  expression 
that  flitted  over  the  pale  face. 

Chadd  did  not  answer.  He  was  thinking  that 
no  adequate  retribution  could  be  inflicted  upon 
Isaac  Boker.  The  crime  was  not  only  the  de- 
struction of  merely  sensuous  human  life,  but, 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  177 

alas,  of  that  subtler  entity  of  human  schemes, 
and  upward-reaching  ambitions,  and  the  im- 
measurable opportunity  of  achievement,  which 
after  all  is  the  essence  of  the  thing  called  life. 
He  was  to  die  at  the  outset  of  his  career,  which 
his  own  steadfast  purpose  and  unaided  talent 
had  rendered  honorable  and  brilliant,  for  the 
unreasoning  fury  of  a  drunken  mountaineer. 
And  this  was  an  end  for  a  man  who  had  turned 
his  ambitious  eyes  upon  a  chief-justice's  chair, 
—  an  absurd  ambition  but  for  its  splendid  ef- 
frontery !  In  all  this  bitterness,  however,  it  was 
some  comfort  to  know  that  the  criminal  had  not 
escaped. 

"Are  you  able  to  tell  how  it  happened, 
Chadd  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  lawyers. 

As  Chadd  again  opened  his  eyes,  they  fell 
upon  the  face  of  a  woman  standing  just  within 
the  door,  —  so  drawn  and  piteous  a  face,  with 
such  lines  of  patient  endurance  burnt  into  it, 
with  such  a  woful  prophecy  in  the  sunken,  hor- 
ror-stricken eyes,  he  turned  his  head  that  he 
might  see  it  no  more.  He  remembered  that 
face  with  another  expression  upon  it.  It  had 
given  him  a  look  like  a  stab  from  the  door  of 
Boker's  hut,  when  he  had  passed  in  the  after- 
noon. He  wished  never  to  see  it  again,  and  yet 
he  was  constrained  to  glance  back.  There  it 
was,  with  its  quiver  of  a  prescient  heart-break. 

12 


178          IN   THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

He  felt  a  strange  inward  thrill,  a  bewildering 
rush  of  emotion.  That  sense  of  doubleness  and 
development  which  so  mystified  him  was  upon 
him  now.  He  was  surprised  at  himself  when 
he  said,  distinctly,  so  that  all  might  hear,  "  If  I 
die  —  don't  let  them  prosecute  Isaac  Boker." 

There  was  a  sudden  silence,  so  intense  that  it 
seemed  as  if  the  hush  of  death  had  already  fal- 
len, or  that  the  primeval  stillness  of  creation 
was  never  broken.  Had  his  soul  gone  out  into 
the  night  ?  Was  there  now  in  the  boundless 
spaces  of  the  moonlit  air  some  mysterious  pres- 
ence, as  incomprehensible  to  this  little  cluster  of 
overawed  humanity  as  to  the  rocks  and  woods 
of  the  mighty,  encompassing  wilderness  ?  How 
did  the  time  pass  ?  It  seemed  hours  before  the 
stone-like  figure  stirred  again,  and  yet  the  white 
radiance  on  the  puncheon  floor  had  not  shifted. 
His  consciousness  was  coming  back  from  those 
vague  border-lands  of  life  and  death.  He  was 
about  to  speak  once  more.  "  Nobody  can  know 
how  it  happened  except  me."  And  then  again, 
as  he  drifted  away,  "Don't  let  them  prosecute." 

There  was  a  fine  subject  of  speculation  at  the 
Settlement  the  next  morning,  when  the  coun- 
try-side gathered  to  hear  the  candidates  speak. 
The  story  of  Isaac  Boker's  attack  upon  Rufus 
Chadd  was  repeated  to  every  new-comer,  and 
the  astonishment  created  by  the  victim's  un- 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  179 

characteristic  request  when  he  had  thought  he 
was  dying  revived  with  each  consecutive  recital. 
It  presently  became  known  that  no  fatal  result 
was  to  be  anticipated.  The  doctor,  who  lived 
twenty  miles  distant,  and  who  had  just  arrived, 
said  that  the  wounds,  though  painful,  were  not 
dangerous,  and  his  opinion  added  another  ele- 
ment of  interest  to  the  eager  discussion  of  the 
incident. 

Thus  relieved  of  the  shadow  of  an  impending 
tragedy,  the  knots  of  men  congregated  on  the 
great  cliff  gradually  gave  themselves  up  to  the 
object  of  their  meeting.  Candidates  of  smiling 
mien  circulated  among  the  saturnine,  grave- 
faced  mountaineers.  In  circulation,  too,  were 
other  genial  spirits,  familiarly  known  as  "  apple- 
jack." It  was  a  great  occasion  for  the  store- 
keeper ;  so  pressing  and  absorbing  were  his  du- 
ties that  he  had  not  a  moment's  respite,  until 
Mr.  Slade,  the  first  speaker  of  the  day,  mounted 
a  stump  in  front  of  the  store  and  began  to  ad- 
dress his  fellow-citizens.  He  was  a  large,  florid 
man,  with  a  rotund  voice  and  a  smooth  manner, 
and  he  was  considered  Chadd's  most  formidable 
competitor.  The  mountaineers  hastily  concen- 
trated in  a  semicircle  about  him,  listening  with 
the  close  attention  singularly  characteristic  of 
rural  audiences.  Behind  the  crowd  was  the  im- 
mensity of  the  unpeopled  forests;  below,  the 


180         IN  THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

mad  fret  of  the  cataract ;  above,  the  vast  hem- 
isphere of  the  lonely  skies ;  and  far,  far  away 
was  the  infinite  stretching  of  those  blue  ranges 
that  the  Indians  called  The  Endless. 

Chadd  had  lain  in  a  sort  of  stupor  all  the 
morning,  vaguely  conscious  of  the  distant  moun- 
tains visible  through  the  open  window, — 
vaguely  conscious  of  numbers  of  curious  faces 
that  came  to  the  door  and  gazed  in  upon  him,  — 
vaguely  conscious  of  the  candidate's  voice  be- 
ginning to  resound  in  the  noontide  stillness. 
Then  he  roused  himself. 

The  sensation  of  the  first  speech  came  at  its 
close.  As  Chadd  lay  in  expectation  of  the  sten- 
torian "  Hurrah  for  Slade  !  "  which  should  greet 
his  opponent's  peroration,  his  face  flushed,  his 
hands  trembled ;  he  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow, 
and  listened  again.  He  could  hardly  trust  his 
senses,  yet  there  it  was  once  more,  —  his  own 
name,  vibrating  in  a  prolonged  cheer  among  the 
mountain  heights,  and  echoing  far  down  the 
narrow  valley. 

That  sympathetic  heart  of  the  multitude,  so 
quick  to  respond  to  a  noble  impulse,  had  caught 
the  true  interpretation  of  last  night's  scene,  and 
to-day  all  the  barriers  of  ignorance  and  misun- 
derstanding were  down. 

The  heaviest  majority  ever  polled  on  Big  In- 
jun Mounting  was  in  the  reelection  of  the  attor- 


ON  BIG  INJUN  MOUNTING.  181 

ney  for  the  State.  And  the  other  candidates 
thought  it  a  fine  electioneering  trick  to  get  one's 
self  artistically  slashed ;  they  became  misan- 
thropic in  their  views  of  the  inconstancy  of  the 
people,  and  lost  faith  in  saving  grace  and  an 
overruling  Providence. 

This  uncharacteristic  episode  in  the  life  of 
Rufus  Chadd  was  always  incomprehensible  to 
his  associates.  He  hardly  understood  it  him- 
self. He  had  made  a  keen  and  subtle  distinc- 
tion in  a  high  moral  principle.  As  Abel  Stubbs 
said,  in  extenuation  of  the  inconsistency  of  vot- 
ing for  him,  "  I  knows  that  this  hyar  Rufe 
Chadd  air  a  powerful  hard  man,  an'  evil-doers 
ez  offends  agin  the  law  ain't  got  no  mercy  ter 
expect  from  him.  But  then  he  don't  hold  no 
grudge  agin  them  ez  hev  done  him  harm.  An' 
that  's  what  I  'm  a-lookin'  at." 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK. 


I. 

WHAT  momentous  morning  arose  with  so  re- 
splendent a  glory  that  it  should  have  imprinted 
its  indelible  reflection  on  the  face  of  this  great 
Cumberland  cliff ;  what  eloquence  of  dawn  so 
splendid  that  the  dumb,  insensate  stone  should 
catch  its  spirit  and  retain  its  expression  for- 
ever and  forever  ?  A  deep,  narrow  stream 
flowed  around  the  base  of  the  "  paint-rock." 
Immense  fissures  separated  it  from  its  fellows. 
And  charged  with  its  subtler  meaning  it  tow- 
ered above  them  in  isolated  majesty.  Moons 
waxed  and  waned ;  nations  rose  and  fell ;  cen- 
turies came  and  went.  And  still  it  faced  the 
east,  and  still,  undimmed  by  storm  and  time,  it 
reiterated  the  miracle  and  the  prophecy  of  the 
rising  sun. 

"  'T  war  painted  by  the  Injuns,  —  that  's 
what  I  hev  always  hearn  tell.  Them  folks  war 
mos'ly  leagued  with  the  Evil  One.  That  *s 
how  it  kem  they  war  gin  the  grasp  ter  scuffle 
up  that  thar  bluff,  ez  air  four  hunderd  feet 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRfSE  ROCK.         183 

high  an'  ez  sheer  ez  a -wall ;  it  ain't  got  foot- 
hold fur  a  cockle-burr.  I  hev  hearn  tell  that 
when  they  got  ez  high  ez  the  pictur'  they  war 
'lowed  by  the  devil  ter  stand  on  air.  An'  I  be- 
lieves it.  Else  how  'd  they  make  out  ter  do 
that  thar  job  ?  " 

The  hairy  animal,  whose  jeans  suit  pro- 
claimed him  man,  propounded  this  inquiry  with 
a  triumphant  air.  There  was  a  sarcastic  curve 
on  the  lips  of  his  interlocutor.  Clearly  it  was 
not  worth  his  while  to  enlighten  the  mountain- 
eer, —  to  talk  of  the  unknown  races  whose 
work  so  long  survives  their  names,  to  speculate 
upon  the  extent  of  their  civilization  and  the  me- 
chanical contrivances  that  reached  those  dizzy 
heights,  to  confide  his  nebulous  fancies  clus- 
tering about  the  artist-poet  who  painted  this 
grand,  rude  lyric  upon  the  immortal  rock.  He 
turned  from  the  strange  picture,  suspended  be- 
tween heaven  and  earth,  and  looked  over  the 
rickety  palings  into  the  dismal  little  graveyard 
of  the  mountaineers.  Nowhere,  he  thought, 
was  the  mystery  of  life  and  death  so  gloomily 
suggested.  Humanity  seemed  so  small,  so  tran- 
sitory a  thing,  expressed  in  these  few  mounds 
in  the  midst  of  the  undying  grandeur  of  the 
mountains.  Material  nature  conquers ;  man 
and  mind  are  as  naught.  Only  a  reiteration  of 
a  well-conned  lesson,  for  so  far  this  fine  young 


184          IN   THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

fellow  of  thirty  had  made  a  failure  of  life; 
the  material  considerations  with  which  he  had 
wrestled  had  got  the  better  of  him,  and  a  place 
within  the  palings  seemed  rather  preferable  to 
his  place  without. 

It  was  still  strange  to  John  Cleaver  that  his 
lines  should  have  fallen  in  this  wilderness ;  that 
the  door  of  that  house  on  the  slope  of  the 
Backbone  should  be  the  only  door  upon  earth 
open  to  him ;  that  such  men  as  this  mountain- 
eer were  his  neighbors  and  associates.  The 
fact  seemed  a  grotesque  libel  on  likelihood.  As 
he  rode  away  he  was  thinking  of  his  costly  ed- 
ucation, the  sacrifices  his  father  had  made  to 
secure  it,  his  dying  conviction,  which  was  such 
a  comfort  to  him,  that  in  it  he  had  left  his  pen- 
niless son  a  better  thing  than  wealth,  —  with 
such  training  and  such  abilities  what  might  he 
not  reach  ?  When  John  Cleaver  returned  from 
his  medical  studies  in  Paris  to  the  Western 
city  of  his  birth,  to  scores  of  charity  patients, 
and  to  a  fine  social  position  by  virtue  of  the 
prestige  of  a  good  family,  there  seemed  only  a 
little  waiting  needed.  But  the  old  physicians 
held  on  to  life  and  the  paying  practice  with  the 
grip  of  the  immortals.  And  he  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  sustain  existence  while  he  waited. 

At  the  lowest  ebb  of  his  fortunes  there  came 
to  him  a  letter  from  a  young  lawyer,  much  in 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         185 

his  own  professional  position,  but  who  had  con- 
fessed himself  beaten  and  turned  sheep-farmer. 
Here,  among  the  mountains  of  East  Tennes- 
see, said  the  letter,  he  had  bought  a  farm  for 
a  song ;  the  land  was  the  poorest  he  ever  saw, 
but  served  his  purposes,  and  the  house  was 
a  phenomenal  structure  for  these  parts,  —  a 
six-room  brick,  built  fifty  years  ago  by  a  city 
man  with  a  bucolic  craze  and  consumptive  ten- 
dencies. The  people  were  terribly  poor ;  still, 
if  his  friend  would  come  he  might  manage  to 
pick  up  something,  for  there  was  not  a  physi- 
cian in  a  circuit  of  sixty  miles. 

So  Cleaver  had  turned  his  face  to  the  moun- 
tains. But  unlike  the  sheep-farmer  he  did  not 
meet  his  reverses  lightly.  The  man  was  at  bay. 
And  like  a  savage  thing  he  took  his  ill-fortune 
by  the  throat.  Success  had  seemed  so  near 
that  there  was  something  like  the  pain  of  death 
in  giving  up  the  life  to  which  he  had  looked 
forward  with  such  certainty.  He  could  not 
console  himself  with  this  comatose  state,  and 
call  it  life.  He  often  told  himself  that  there 
was  nothing  left  but  to  think  of  what  he  might 
have  done,  and  eat  out  his  heart.  His  ambi- 
tion died  hard. 

As  his  horse  ambled  along,  a  gruff  voice 
broke  his  reverie,  "  'Light  an'  hitch,"  called 
out  the  master  of  a  wayside  hovel. 


186          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

A  man  of  different  temperament  might  have 
found  in  Cleaver's  uncouth  surroundings  some 
points  of  palliation.  His  heart  might  have 
warmed  to  the  ignorant  mountaineers'  high 
and  tender  virtue  of  hospitality.  A  responsive 
respect  might  have  been  induced  by  the  con- 
templation of  their  pride,  so  intense  that  it  rec- 
ognizes no  superior,  so  inordinate  that  one  is 
tempted  to  cry  out,  Here  are  the  true  republi- 
cans !  or,  indeed,  Here  are  the  only  aristocrats  ! 
The  rough  fellow  was  shambling  out  to  stop 
him  with  cordial  insistence.  An  old  crone, 
leaning  on  a  stick  in  the  doorway,  called  after 
her  son,  "  Tell  him  ter  'light  an'  hitch,  Peter, 
an'  eat  his  supper  along  of  we-uns."  A  young 
girl  sitting  on  the  rude  porch,  reeling  yarn  pre- 
paratory to  weaving,  glanced  up,  her  sedate 
face  suddenly  illumined.  Even  the  bare-footed, 
tow-headed  children  stood  still  in  pleased  ex- 
pectation. Certainly  John  Cleaver's  position 
in  life  was  as  false  as  it  was  painful.  But  the 
great  human  heart  was  here,  untutored  though 
it  was,  and  roughly  accoutred.  And  he  himself 
had  found  that  Greek  and  Latin  do  not  alto- 
gether avail. 

The  little  log-house  was  encompassed  by  the 
splendor  of  autumnal  foliage.  A  purple  haze 
clung  to  the  distant  mountains ;  every  range 
and  every  remove  had  a  new  tone  and  a  new 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         187 

delight.  The  gray  crags,  near  at  hand,  stood 
out  sharply  against  the  crimson  sky.  And  high 
above  them  all  in  its  impressive  isolation  loomed 
Sunrise  Rock,  heedless  of  the  transitory  dying 
day  and  the  ineffective  coming  night. 

The  girl's  reel  was  still  whirling ;  at  regular 
intervals  it  ticked  and  told  off  another  cut. 
Cleaver's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  as  he  de- 
clined Peter  Teake's  invitation.  He  had  seen 
her  often  before,  but  he  did  not  know  as  yet 
that  that  face  would  play  a  strange  part  in  the 
little  mental  drama  that  was  to  lead  to  the 
making  of  his  fortune.  Her  cheek  was  flushed ; 
her  delicate  crimson  lips  were  slightly  parted ; 
the  live  gold  of  the  sunbeams  touched  the  dead- 
yellow,  lustreless  masses  of  her  hair.  Here  and 
there  the  clustering  tendrils  separated,  as  they 
hung  about  her  shoulders,  and  disclosed  bright 
glimpses  of  a  red  cotton  kerchief  knotted  around 
her  throat ;  she  wore  a  dark  blue  homespun 
dress,  and  despite  the  coarse  texture  of  her  at- 
tire there  was  something  of  the  mingled  brill- 
iance and  softness  of  the  autumn  tints  in  her 
humble  presence.  Her  eyes  reminded  him  of 
those  deep,  limpid  mountain  streams  with  gold- 
en-brown pebbles  at  the  bottom.  Scornful  as 
he  was,  he  was  only  a  man  —  and  a  young  man. 
With  a  sudden  impulse  he  leaned  forward  and 
handed  her  a  pretty  cluster  of  ferns  and  berries 
which  he  had  gathered  in  the  forest. 


188         IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  reel  stopped,  the  thread  broke.  She 
looked  up,  as  she  received  mechanically  his 
woodland  treasure,  with  so  astonished  a  face 
that  it  induced  in  this  man  of  the  world  a  sense 
of  embarrassment. 

"  Air  they  good  yerbs  fur  somethin'  ?  "  she 
asked. 

A  quick  comprehension  of  the  ludicrous  situ- 
ation flashed  through  his  mind.  She  evidently 
made  no  distinctions  in  the  healing  art  as  prac- 
ticed by  him  and  the  "  yerb-doctor,"  with  whom 
he  occasionally  came  into  professional  contact. 
And  the  presentation  of  the  "  yerbs  "  seemed  a 
prescription  instead  of  a  compliment. 

"  No,  —  no,"  he  said  hastily,  thinking  of 
the  possibility  of  a  decoction.  "  They  are  not 
good  for  tea.  They  are  of  no  use,  —  except  to 
look  at." 

And  he  rode  away,  laughing  softly. 

Everything  about  the  red  brick  house  was 
disorganized  and  dilapidated ;  but  the  dining- 
room,  which  served  the  two  young  bachelors  as 
a  sitting-room  also,  was  cheerful  with  the  glow 
of  a  hickory  fire  and  a  kerosene  lamp,  and  al- 
though the  floor  was  bare  and  the  tiny-paned 
windows  curtained  only  with  cobwebs,  there 
was  a  suggestively  comfortable  array  of  pipes 
on  the  mantel-piece,  and  a  bottle  of  gracious 
aspect.  Sitting  in  front  of  the  fire,  the  light 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         189 

full  on  his  tawny  beard  and  close-clipped  blond 
hair,  was  a  man  of  splendid  proportions,  a  fine, 
frank,  intellectual  face,  and  a  manner  and  ac- 
cent that  proclaimed  him  as  distinctly  exotic  as 
his  friend.  He  too  had  reared  the  great  scaf- 
folding of  an  elaborate  education  that  he  might 
erect  the  colossal  edifice  of  his  future.  His 
hands  beat  the  empty  air  and  he  had  no  ma- 
terials wherewith  to  build.  But  there  was  the 
scaffolding,  a  fine  thing  in  itself,  —  wasted,  per- 
haps. For  the  sheep-farmer  did  not  need  it. 

"  Well,  old  sinner  !  "  he  exclaimed  smilingly, 
as  Cleaver  entered.  "  Did  you  tell  Tom  to  put 
up  your  '  beastis '  ?  He  is  so  4  brigaty  '  that  he 
might  not  stand." 

Were  the  two  friends  sojourning  in  the  Cum- 
berland Mountains  on  a  camp-hunt,  these  ex- 
cerpts from  the  prevalent  dialect  might  have 
seemed  to  Cleaver  a  pleasantry  of  exquisite 
flavor.  But  they  were  no  sojourners  ;  they  were 
permanently  established  here.  And  he  felt  that 
every  concession  to  the  customs  of  the  region 
was  a  descent  toward  the  level  of  its  inhabitants. 
He  thought  Trelawney  was  already  degenerat- 
ing in  this  disheveled  life,  —  mentally,  in  man- 
ner, even  in  speech.  For  with  a  philologist's 
zest  Trelawney  chased  verbal  monstrosities  to 
their  lair,  and  afterward  displayed  them  in  his 
daily  conversation  with  as  much  pride  as  a  con- 


190         IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

noisseur  feels  in  exhibiting  odd  old  china.  As 
these  reflections  intruded  themselves,  Cleaver 
silently  swore  a  mighty  oath  —  an  oath  he  had 
often  sworn  before  —  that  he  would  not  go  down 
with  him,  he  would  not  deteriorate  too,  he 
would  hold  hard  to  the  traditions  of  a  higher 
sphere. 

But  sins  against  convention  could  not  detract 
from  the  impressiveness  of  the  man  lounging 
before  the  fire.  If  Trelawney  only  had  money, 
how  he  would  adorn  the  state  of  nabob ! 

"  Brigaty  !  "  he  reiterated.  "  That 's  a  funny 
word.  It  sounds  as  if  it  might  be  kin  to  the 
Italian  brigata.  Or,  see  here  —  briga  ?  —  eh  ? 
—  brigare  —  brigarsi  f  I  wonder  how  these  peo- 
ple come  by  it." 

A  long  pause  ensued,  broken  only  by  the 
ticking  of  their  watches :  the  waste  of  time  as- 
serted itself.  All  was  silent  without ;  no  wind 
stirred  ;  no  leaf  nor  acorn  fell ;  the  mute  mists 
pressed  close  to  the  window.  Surely  there  were 
no  other  creatures  in  all  the  dreary  world.  And 
this,  thought  Cleaver,  was  what  he  had  come 
to,  after  all  his  prestige,  all  his  efforts  ! 

"Trelawney,"  he  said  suddenly,  "these  are 
long  evenings.  Don't  you  think  that  with  all 
this  time  on  our  hands  —  I  don't  know  —  but 
don't  you  think  we  might  write  something  to- 
gether?" 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         191 

A  frank  surprise  was  in  his  friend's  brown 
eyes.  He  replied  doubtfully,  "  Write  what  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Cleaver  despondently. 

"  And  suppose  we  had  the  talent  to  project 
'  something '  and  the  energy  to  complete  it,  who 
would  publish  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  doctor,  more  hope- 
lessly still. 

Another  pause.  The  foxes  were  barking  in 
the  moonlight,  in  the  red  autumn  woods.  That 
a  man  should  feel  less  lonely  for  the  sound  of  a 
wild  thing's  voice  ! 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  John  Cleaver,  a  cer- 
tain passion  of  despair  welling  up  in  his  tones, 
—  he  leaned  forward  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
friend's  knee,  —  "  it  won't  do  for  us  to  spend  our 
lives  here.  We  must  turn  about  and  get  back 
into  the  world  of  men  and  action.  Don't  think 
I  'm  ungrateful  for  this  haven,  —  you  are  the 
only  one  who  held  out  a  hand,  —  but  we  must 
get  back,  and  go  on  with  the  rest.  Help  me, 
Trelawney,  —  help  me  think  out  some  way. 
I  'm  losing  faith  in  myself  alone.  Let  us  help 
each  other.  Many  a  man  has  made  his  pen  his 
strongest  friend ;  they  were  only  men  at  last, 
just  such  as  we  are.  Many  of  them  were  poor ; 
the  best  of  them  were  poor.  We  can  try  noth- 
ing else,  Fred,  —  so  little  chance  is  left  to  us." 

Trelawney  laid  his  warm  strong  hand  upon 


192          IN   THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

the  cold  nervous  hand  trembling  on  his  knee. 
"  Jack,"  he  said,  "  I  have  given  it  all  up.  I  am 
through  forever  with  those  cursed  alternations 
of  hope  and  despair.  I  don't  believe  we  could 
write  anything  that  would  do  —  do  any  good,  I 
mean.  I  wore  out  all  energy  and  afflatus  —  the 
best  part  of  me  —  waiting  for  the  clients  who 
never  came.  And  all  the  time  my  appropriate 
sphere,  my  sheep-farm,  was  waiting  for  me  here. 
I  have  found  contentment,  the  manna  from 
heaven,  while  you  are  still  sighing  for  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt.  Ambition  has  thrown  me  once  ; 
I  sha'ii't  back  the  jade  again.  I  am  a  shepherd, 
Jack,  a  shepherd. 

'Pastorem,  Tityre,  pingues 
Pascere  oportet  oves,  deductum  dicere  carmen.' 

That 's  it,  my  dear  old  boy.  Sing  a  slender 
song !  We  've  pitched  our  voices  on  too  high 
a  key  for  our  style  of  vocalization.  We  must 
sing  small,  Jack,  —  sing  a  slender  song !  " 

"  I  '11  be  damned  if  I  do  !  "  cried  Cleaver,  im- 
petuously, springing  to  his  feet  and  pacing  the 
room  with  a  quick  stride. 

But  his  friend's  words  dogged  him  deep  into 
the  night.  They  would  not  let  him  sleep.  He 
lay  staring  blankly  at  the  darkness,  his  thoughts 
busy  with  his  forlorn  position  and  his  forlorn 
prospects,  and  that  sense  of  helplessness,  so  ter- 
rible to  a  man,  pressing  heavily  upon  his  heart. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         193 

In  the  midst  of  the  memories  of  his  hopes,  his 
ambitions,  and  his  failures  he  was  like  a  worm 
in  the  fire.  The  vague  presence  of  the  majestic 
company  of  mountains  without  preyed  upon  him ; 
they  seemed  stolid,  unmoved  witnesses  of  his 
despair.  The  only  human  creature  who  might 
have  understood  him  would  not  understand  him. 
He  knew  that  if  he  were  writhing  in  pain  with 
a  broken  limb,  or  the  sentimental  spurious  an- 
guish of  a  broken  heart,  Trelawney  would  re- 
solve himself  into  every  gracious  phase  of  heal- 
ing sympathy.  But  a  broken  life  !  —  his  friend 
would  not  make  an  effort.  Yet  why  should  he 
crave  support  ?  Was  it  true  that  he  had  pitched 
his  voice  too  high  ?  In  this  day  of  over-educa- 
tion, when  every  man  is  fitted  for  any  noble 
sphere  of  intellectual  achievement  and  only  in- 
born talent  survives,  might  it  not  be  that  he  had 
mistaken  a  cultivated  aspiration  for  latent 
power?  And  if  indeed  his  purposes  had  out- 
stripped his  abilities,  the  result  was  tragic  — 
tragic.  He  was  as  dead  as  if  he  were  six  feet 
deep  in  the  ground.  A  bitter  throe  of  shame 
came  with  these  reflections.  There  is  something 
so  ludicrously  contemptible  in  a  great  personal 
ambition  and  a  puny  capacity.  Ambition  is  the 
only  grand  passion  that  does  not  ennoble.  We 
do  not  care  that  a  low  thing  should  lift  its  eyes. 
And  if  it  does,  we  laugh. 

13 


194         IN   THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  hall  below. 
He  had  left  Trelawney  reading,  but  now  his 
step  was  on  the  stairs,  and  with  it  rose  the  full 
mellow  tones  of  his  voice.  He  was  singing  of 
the  spring-time  in  the  autumn  midnight.  Poor 
Fred  !  It  was  always  spring  with  him.  He  met 
his  misfortunes  with  so  cordial  an  outstretched 
hand  that  it  might  have  seemed  he  disarmed 
them.  It  did  not  seem  so  to  John  Cleaver.  He 
shifted  his  attitude  with  a  groan.  His  friend's 
fatal  apathy  was  an  added  pang  to  his  own  sor- 
rows. And  now  the  house  was  still,  and  he 
watched  through  all  the  long  hours  the  western 
moonlight  silently  scale  the  gloomy  pines,  till  on 
their  plumy  crests  the  yellow  beams  mingled 
with  the  red  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  and  the 
empty,  lonely  day  broke  in  its  useless,  wasted 
splendor  upon  the  empty  loneliness  of  the  splen- 
did night. 

II. 

Cleaver  took  little  note,  at  this  period,  of 
those  who  came  and  went  in  his  life ;  and  he 
took  little  note  of  how  he  came  and  went  in  the 
lives  of  others.  He  had  no  idea  of  those  inex- 
plicable circles  of  thought  and  being  that  touch 
at  a  single  point,  and  jar,  perhaps.  One  day, 
while  the  Indian  summer  was  still  red  on  the 
hills,  —  he  had  reason  to  remembejr  this  day,  — - 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.     '   195 

while  the  purple  haze  hovered  over  the  land- 
scape and  mellowed  to  artistic  delicacy  the  bold, 
bright  colors  of  Sunrise  Rock,  he  chanced  to 
drive  alone  in  his  friend's  rickety  buggy  along 
the  road  that  passed  on  the  opposite  bank  from 
the  painted  cliff  and  encircled  the  dreary  little 
graveyard  of  the  mountaineers.  He  became 
suddenly  aware  that  there  was  a  figure  leaning 
against  the  palings ;  he  recognized  Selina  Teake 
as  he  lifted  his  absorbed  eyes.  She  held  her 
sun-bonnet  in  her  hand,  and  her  yellow  hair  and 
fair  face  were  unshaded ;  how  little  did  he  or 
she  imagine  what  that  face  was  to  be  to  him 
afterward  !  He  drew  up  his  horse  and  spoke  : 
"  Well,  this  is  the  last  place  I  should  think  you 
would  want  to  come  to." 

She  did  not  understand  his  dismal  little  joke 
at  the  graveyard.  She  silently  fixed  upon  him 
those  eyes,  so  suggestive  of  deep,  clear  waters 
in  which  some  luminous  planet  has  sunk  a 
starry  reflection. 

"  Did  you  intend  to  remain  permanently  ?  " 

"  I  war  restin'  awhile,"  she  softly  replied. 

He  had  a  vague  consciousness  that  she  was 
the  first  of  these  proud  mountaineers  whom  he 
had  ever  seen  embarrassed  or  shy.  She  was  in- 
dubitably blushing  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  as 
she  falteringly  looked  at  him.  How  bright  her 
eyes  were,  how  red  her  delicate  lips,  what  a 


196          IN   THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

faint  fresh  wild-rose  was  suddenly  abloom  on 
her  cheek ! 

"  Suppose  you  drive  with  me  the  remainder 
^f  the  way,"  he  suggested. 

This  was  only  the  courtesy  of  the  road  in  this 
region,  and  with  her  grave,  decorous  manner  she 
stepped  lightly  into  the  vehicle,  and  they  bowled 
away  together.  She  was  very  mute  and  motion- 
less as  she  sat  beside  him,  her  face  eloquent 
with  some  untranslated  emotion  of  mingled  won- 
derment and  pleasure  and  pain.  Perhaps  she 
drew  in  with  the  balsamic  sunlit  air  the  sweet- 
est experience  of  her  short  life.  He  was  silent 
too,  his  thoughts  still  hanging  drearily  about 
his  blighted  prospects  and  this  fatal  false  step 
that  had  led  him  to  the  mountains  ;  wondering 
whether  he  could  have  done  better,  whether  he 
could  have  done  otherwise  at  all,  when  it  would 
end,  —  when,  and  how. 

Trelawney  was  lounging  against  the  rail  fence 
in  front  of  Teake's  house,  looking,  in  his  negli- 
gent attire,  like  a  prince  in  disguise,  and  talk- 
ing to  the  mountaineers  about  a  prospective 
deer-hunt.  There  was  a  surprised  resentment 
on  his  face  when  Cleaver  drove  up,  but  the  re- 
turn of  Selina  with  him  made  not  a  ripple 
among  the  Teakes.  It  would  have  been  impos- 
sible to  demonstrate  to  them  that  they  stood  on 
a  lower  social  plane.  Their  standard  of  moral- 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         197 

Ity  and  respectability  could  not  be  questioned  ; 
there  had  never  been  a  man  or  a  woman  of  the 
humble  name  who  had  given  the  others  cause 
for  shame ;  they  had  lived  in  this  house  on  their 
own  land  for  a  hundred  years ;  they  neither 
stole  nor  choused ;  they  paid  as  they  went,  and 
asked  no  favors  ;  they  took  no  alms,  —  nay,  they 
gave  of  their  little  !  As  to  the  artificial  dis- 
tinctions of  money  and  education,  —  what  do 
the  ignorant  mountaineers  care  about  money 
and  education  ! 

Selina  stood  for  a  moment  upon  the  cabin 
porch,  her  yellow  hair  gleaming  like  an  aureola 
upon  a  background  of  crimson  sumach  leaves. 
A  pet  fawn  came  to  the  door  and  nibbled  at  her 
little  sun-burned  hands.  As  she  turned  to  go 
in,  Trelawney  spoke  to  her.  "  Shall  I  bring 
you  a  fawn  again  ?  or  will  you  have  some  ven- 
ison from  the  hunt  to-morrow  ?  " 

She  fixed  her  luminous  eyes  upon  him  and 
laughed  a  little.  There  was  no  shyness  in  her 
face  and  manner  now.  Was  Trelawney  so  ac- 
customed a  presence  in  her  life,  Cleaver  won- 
dered. 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  said  Fred,  laughing  too.  "  I  '11 
bring  you  some  venison." 

He  was  grave  enough  as  he  and  his  friend 
drove  homeward  together,  and  Cleaver  was 
roused  to  the  perception  that  there  was  a  cer- 


198          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

tain  unwonted  coldness  slipping  insidiously  be- 
tween them.  It  was  not  until  they  were  seated 
before  the  fire  that  Trelawney  again  spoke. 
"  How  did  it  happen  that  you  and  she  were  to- 
gether ? "  Evidently  he  had  thought  of  noth- 
ing else  since. 

«  Who  ?  —  the  Lady  Selina  ?  "  said  Cleaver, 
mockingly.  Trelawney's  eyes  warned  him  to 
forbear.  "  Oh,  I  met  her  walking,  and  I  asked 
her  to  drive  with  me  the  rest  of  the  way." 

Nothing  more  was  said  for  a  time.  Cleaver 
was  thinking  of  the  fawn  which  Fred  had  given 
her,  of  the  patent  fact  that  he  was  a  familiar 
visitor  at  the  Teake  house.  His  question,  and 
his  long  dwelling  upon  the  subject  before  he 
asked  it,  seemed  almost  to  indicate  jealousy. 
Jealousy  !  Cleaver  could  hardly  credit  his  own 
suspicion. 

Trelawney  broke  the  silence.  "  Education," 
he  said  abruptly,  "  what  does  education  accom- 
plish for  women  in  our  station  of  life?  They 
learn  to  write  a  fashionable  hand  that  nobody 
can  decipher.  They  take  a  limited  course  of 
reading  and  remember  nothing.  Their  study 
of  foreign  languages  goes  so  far  sometimes  as  to 
enable  them  to  interject  commonplace  French 
phrases  into  their  daily  conversation,  and  ren- 
der their  prattle  an  affront  to  good  taste  as  well 
an  insult  to  the  understanding.  They  have 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         199 

converted  the  piano  into  an  instrument  of  tor- 
ture throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
land.  Sometimes  they  are  learned ;  then  they 
are  given  over  to  4  making  an  impression,'  and 
are  prone  to  discuss,  with  a  fatal  tendency  to 
misapply  terms,  what  they  call  '  philosophy.' 
As  to  their  experience  in  society,  no  one  will 
maintain  that  their  flirtations  and  husband- 
hunting  tend  greatly  to  foster  delicacy  and  re- 
finement. What  would  that  girl,"  nodding 
toward  the  log-cabin  near  Sunrise  Rock,  "  think 
of  the  girls  of  our  world  who  pursue  '  society ' 
as  a  man  pursues  a  profession,  who  shove  and 
jostle  each  other  and  pull  caps  for  the  great 
matches,  and  4  put  up '  with  the  others  when 
no  better  may  be  had?  She  is  my  ideal  of  a 
modest,  delicate  young  girl,  —  and  she  is  the 
only  sincere  woman  I  ever  saw.  Upon  my 
soul,  I  think  the  primitive  woman  holds  her 
own  very  finely  in  comparison  with  the  result- 
ant of  feminine  culture." 

Cleaver  listened  in  stunned  dismay.  Could 
Trelawney  have  really  fallen  in  love  with  the 
little  mountaineer?  He  had  adapted  himself 
so  readily  to  the  habits  of  these  people.  He 
was  so  far  from  the  world ;  he  was  dropping  its 
chains.  Many  men  under  such  circumstances, 
under  far  happier  circumstances,  had  fallen  into 
the  fatal  error  of  a  mesalliance.  Positively  he 


200         IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

might  marry  the  girl.  Cleaver  felt  it  an  imper- 
ative duty  to  make  an  effort  to  avert  this  al- 
most grotesque  catastrophe.  In  its  very  incep- 
tion, however,  he  was  hopeless.  Trelawney 
had  always  been  so  intolerant  of  control,  so  te- 
nacious of  impressions  and  emotions,  so  careless 
of  results  and  the  opinion  of  society.  These 
seemed  only  originalities  of  character  when  he 
was  the  leader  of  a  clique  of  men  of  his  own  so- 
cial position.  Was  Cleaver  a  snob  because  they 
seemed  to  him,  now  that  his  friend  was  brought 
low  in  the  world,  a  bull-headed  perversity,  a 
ludicrous  eccentricity,  an  unkempt  republican- 
ism, a  raw  incapacity  to  appreciate  the  right 
relations  of  things?  In  the  delicately  adjusted 
balance  of  life  is  that  which  is  fine  when  a  man 
is  up,  folly  when  a  man  is  down  ? 

"  She  is  a  pretty  little  thing,"  he  said,  slight- 
ingly, "  and  no  doubt  a  good  little  thing.  And, 
Trelawney,  if  I  were  in  your  place  I  would  n't 
hang  around  her.  Your  feelings  might  become 
involved  —  she  is  so  pretty  —  and  she  might 
fall  in  love  with  you,  and  "  — 

"  You  've  said  enough  !  "  exclaimed  Trelaw- 
ney, fiercely. 

It  was  monstrous  !  Trelawney  would  marry 
her.  And  he  was  as  helpless  to  prevent  it  as  if 
Fred  intended  to  hang  himself. 

"  Your  railing  at  the  women  of  society  in 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.          201 

that  shallow  fashion  suggests  the  idea  to  me 
that  you  are  trying  to  justify  yourself  in  some 
tremendous  folly.  Do  you  contemplate  marry- 
ing her?" 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  propose  to  do,"  said 
Trelawney. 

"  And  you  are  mad  enough  to  think  you  are 
really  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  be  ?  If  she  were  differ- 
ently placed  in  point  of  wealth  and  station 
would  there  be  any  incongruity  ?  I  don't  want 
to  say  anything  hard  of  you,  Cleaver,  but  you 
would  be  ready  to  congratulate  me." 

"  I  admit,"  retorted  Cleaver,  sharply,  "  that 
if  she  were  your  equal  in  station  and  appro- 
priately educated  I  should  not  have  a  word  of 
objection  to  say." 

"  And  after  all,  is  it  the  accident  of  position 
and  fortune,  or  the  human  creature,  that  a  man 
takes  to  his  heart  ?  " 

"  But  her  ignorance,  Fred  "  — 

44  Great  God  !  does  a  man  fall  in  love  with  a 
society  girl  for  the  sake  of  what  she  calls  her 
4  education  ? '  Whatever  attracts  him,  it  is  not 
that.  They  are  all  ignorant ;  this  girl's  igno- 
rance is  only  relative." 

44  Ah,  —  you  know  all  that  is  bosh,  Fred." 

41  In  point  of  manner  you  yourself  must  con- 
cede that  she  is  in  many  respects  superior  to 


202          IN   THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

them.  She  has  a  certain  repose  and  gravity 
and  dignity  difficult  to  find  among  young  ladies 
of  high  degree  whose  education  has  not  proved 
an  antidote  for  flippancy.  I  won't  be  hard 
enough  on  them  to  compare  the  loveliness  of 
her  face  or  her  fine,  unspoiled  nature.  You 
don't  want  her  to  be  learned  any  more  than 
you  want  an  azalea  to  be  learned.  An  azalea 
in  a  green-house  becomes  showy  and  flaunting 
and  has  no  fragrance,  while  here  in  the  woods 
its  exquisite  sweetness  fills  the  air  for  miles." 

"  Trelawney,  you  are  fit  for  Bedlam." 

"  I  knew  you  would  say  so.  I  thought  so 
too  at  first.  I  tried  to  stamp  it  out,  and  put  it 
down,  and  for  a  long  time  I  fought  all  that  is 
best  in  me." 

"  Does  she  know  anything  about  your  feel- 
ings?" 

"  Not  one  word,  as  yet." 

"  Then  I  hope  something  —  anything  —  may 
happen  to  put  a  stop  to  it  before  she  does." 

This  hasty  wish  seemed  cruel  to  him  after- 
ward, and  he  regretted  it. 

"It  would  break  my  heart,"  said  Trelawney, 
with  an  extreme  earnestness.  "I  know  you 
think  I  am  talking  wildly,  but  I  tell  you  it 
would  break  my  heart." 

Cleaver  fell  to  meditating  ruefully  upon  the 
future  in  store  for  his  friend  in  this  desolate 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         203 

place.  King  Cophetua  and  the  beggar-maid 
are  a  triumph  of  ideal  contrast,  eminently  fas- 
cinating in  an  ideal  point  of  view.  But  real 
life  presents  prosaic  corollaries, — the  Teakes, 
for  example,  on  the  familiar  footing  of  Trelaw- 
ney's  brothers-in-law ;  the  old  crone  with  her 
pipe,  his  wife's  grandmother ;  that  ignorant 
girl,  his  wife  —  oh,  these  sublunary  considera- 
tions are  too  inexorable.  In  his  sluggish  con- 
tent he  would  never  make  another  effort ;  he 
would  always  live  here ;  he  would  sink,  year  by 
year,  by  virtue  of  his  adaptability  and  uncouth 
associations  nearer  to  the  level  of  the  mountain- 
eers. This  culminating  folly  seemed  destined 
to  complete  the  ruin  of  every  prospect  in  a  fine 
man's  life. 

Cleaver  did  not  know  what  was  to  come,  and 
he  brooded  upon  these  ideas. 

III. 

Those  terrible  problems  of  existence  of  which 
happier  men  at  rare  intervals  catch  a  fleeting 
glimpse,  and  are  struck  aghast  for  a  moment, 
pursued  John  Cleaver  relentlessly  day  by  day. 
He  could  not  understand  this  world ;  he  could 
not  understand  the  waste  of  himself  and  his 
friend  in  this  useless,  purposeless  way  ;  he  could 
not  even  understand  the  magnificent  waste  of 


204         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

the  nature  about  him.  Sometimes  he  would 
look  with  haggard  eyes  on  the  late  dawns  and 
marvel  that  the  sun  should  rise  in  such  efful- 
gence upon  this  sequestered  spot ;  a  perpetual 
twilight  might  have  sufficed  for  the  threnody, 
called  life,  here.  He  would  gaze  on  Sunrise 
Rock,  forever  facing  and  reflecting  the  dawn, 
and  wonder  who  and  what  was  the  man  that  in 
the  forgotten  past  had  stood  on  these  red  hills, 
and  looked  with  his  full  heart  in  his  eyes  upon 
that  sun,  and  smote  the  stone  to  sudden  speech. 
Were  his  eyes  haggard  too?  Was  his  life 
heavy?  Were  his  fiery  aspirations  only  a 
touch  of  the  actual  cautery  to  all  that  was  sen- 
sitive within  him  ?  Did  he  know  how  his  world 
was  to  pass  away  ?  Did  he  know  how  little  he 
was  in  the  world  ?  Did  he  too  wring  his  hands, 
and  beat  his  breast,  and  sigh  for  the  thing  that 
was  not? 

Cleaver  did  the  work  that  came  to  him  con- 
scientiously, although  mechanically  enough. 
But  there  was  little  work  to  do.  Even  the  ca- 
reer of  a  humble  country  doctor  seemed  closed 
to  him.  He  began  to  think  he  saw  how  it 
would  end.  He  would  be  obliged,  to  quit  the 
profession;  in  sheer  manliness  he  would  be 
obliged  to  get  to  something  at  which  he  could 
work.  A  terrible  pang  here.  He  cared  noth- 
ing for  money,  —  this  man,  who  was  as  poor 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         205 

as  the  very  mountaineers.  He  was  vowed  to 
science  as  a  monk  is  vowed  to  his  order. 

It  was  an  unusual  occurrence,  therefore,  when 
Trelawney  came  in  one  day  and  found  that 
Cleaver  had  been  called  out  professionally.  He 
sat  down  to  dine  alone,  but  before  he  had  fin- 
ished carving,  his  friend  entered. 

"  Well,  doctor,"  said  Trelawney  cheerily, 
"  how  is  your  patient  ?  " 

Cleaver  was  evidently  out  of  sorts  and  pre- 
occupied. "  These  people  are  as  uncivilized  as 
the  foxes  that  they  live  among,"  he  exclaimed 
irrelevantly.  "  A  case  of  malignant  diphtheria, 
a  physician  their  nearest  neighbor,  and  they 
don't  let  him  know  till  nearly  the  last  gasp. 
Then  they  all  go  frantic  together,  and  swear 
they  had  no  idea  it  was  serious.  I  could  have 
brained  that  fool,  Peter  Teake.  But  it  is  a 
hopeless  thing  now." 

A  premonition  thrilled  through  Trelawney,, 
"  Who  is  ill  at  Teake's  ?  " 

Cleaver  was  stricken  dumb.  His  professional 
indignation  had  canceled  all  realization  of  the 
impending  crisis.  He  remembered  Fred's  fool- 
ish fancy  an  instant  too  late.  His  silence  an- 
swered for  him.  And  Trelawney,  a  sudden 
blight  upon  his  handsome  face,  rose  and  walked 
out  heavily  into  the  splendors  of  the  autumn 
sunset.  Cleaver  was  bitter  with  self-reproach. 


206          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Still  he  felt  an  impotent  anger  that  Fred  should 
have  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  in  love  with 
this  girl,  and  laid  himself  liable  to  this  senti- 
mental pain. 

"  A  heart  I "  thought  Cleaver,  scornfully. 
"  That  a  heart  should  trouble  a  man  in  a  place 
like  this ! " 

And  yet  his  own  well-schooled  heart  was  all 
athrob  with  a  keen,  undreamed-of  anguish  when 
once  more  he  had  come  back  from  the  cabin  in 
the  gorge.  As  he  entered,  Trelawney,  after  one 
swift  glance,  turned  his  eyes  away.  He  had 
learned  from  Cleaver's  face  all  he  feared  to  know. 
He  might  have  learned  more,  a  secret  too  subtly 
bitter  for  his  friend  to  tell.  King  Cophetua 
was  as  naught  to  the  beggar-maid.  In  her  dying 
eyes  John  Cleaver  had  seen  the  fresh  and  pure 
affection  that  had  followed  him.  In  her  tones 
he  had  heard  it.  Was  she  misled  by  that  pro- 
fessional tenderness  of  manner  which  speaks  so 
soothingly  and  touches  so  softly  —  as  mechan- 
ical as  the  act  of  drawing  off  his  gloves  —  that 
she  should  have  been  moved  to  cry  out  in  her 
huskily  pathetic  voice,  "  How  good  —  how  good 
ye  air !  "  and  extend  to  him,  amongst  all  her  kin- 
dred who  stood  about,  her  little  sun-burned 
hand? 

And  after  that  she  was  speechless,  and  when 
the  little  hand  was  unloosed  it  was  cold. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         207 

She  had  loved  him,  and  he  had  never  known 
it  until  now.  He  felt  like  a  traitor  as  he 
glanced  at  his  friend's  changed  face,  and  he  was 
crushed  by  a  sense  of  the  immense  capacity  of 
human  nature  for  suffering.  What  a  great 
heart-drama  was  this,  with  its  incongruous  and 
humble  dramatis*  personce :  the  little  moun- 
taineer, and  these  two  poverty-stricken  strag- 
glers from  the  vast  army  of  men  of  action,  — 
deserters,  even,  it  might  seem.  What  chaotic 
sarcasm  in  this  mysterious  ordering  of  events, 
—  Trelawney,  with  his  grand  sacrificial  pas- 
sion ;  the  poor  little  girl,  whose  first  fresh  love 
had  unsought  followed  another  through  these 
waste  places  ;  and  he,  all  unconscious,  absorbed 
in  himself,  his  worldly  considerations  and  the 
dying  throes  of  his  dear  ambitions.  And  now, 
for  him,  who  had  felt  least  of  all,  was  rising  a 
great  vicarious  woe.  If  he  had  known  this  girl's 
heart-secret  while  she  yet  lived  he  might  have 
thought  scornfully  of  it,  slightingly ;  who  can 
say  how  ?  But  now  that  she  was  dead  it  was  as 
if  he  had  been  beloved  by  an  angel,  and  was 
only  too  obtuse,  too  gross,  too  earthly-minded 
to  hear  the  rustle  of  her  wings.  How  pitiable 
was  the  thought  of  her  misplaced  affection  ;  how 
hard  it  was  for  his  friend ;  how  hard  it  was  for 
him  that  he  had  ever  discovered  it.  Did  she 
know  that  he  cared  nothing  ?  Were  the  last 


208  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

days  of  her  short  life  embittered  with  the  pangs 
of  a  consciously  unrequited  love  ?  Or  did  she 
tremble,  and  hope,  and  tremble  again  ?  Ah, 
poor,  poor,  pretty  thing ! 

He  had  no  name  for  a  certain  vague,  myste- 
rious thrill  which  quivered  through  every  fibre 
whenever  he  thought  of  that  humble,  tender 
love  that  had  followed  him  so  long,  unasked  and 
unheeded.  It  began  to  hang  about  him  now 
like  a  dimly-realized  presence.  Occasionally  it 
occurred  to  him  that  his  nerves  were  disordered, 
his  health  giving  way,  and  he  would  commence 
a  course  of  medicine,  to  forget  it  in  his  preoc- 
cupation, and  discontinue  it  almost  as  soon  as 
begun.  What  happened  afterward  was  a  nat- 
ural sequence  enough,  although  at  the  time  it 
seemed  wonderful  indeed. 

One  misty  midnight,  when  these  strong  feel- 
ings were  upon  him,  it  so  chanced  that  he  was 
driving  from  a  patient's  house  on  the  summit 
of  the  ridge,  and  his  way  lay  beneath  Sunrise 
Rock  along  the  road  which  encircled  the  little 
graveyard  of  the  mountaineers.  The  moon  was 
bright ;  so  bright  that  the  wreaths  of  vapor, 
hanging  motionless  among  the  pines,  glistened 
like  etherealized  silver ;  so  bright  that  the 
mounds  within  the  in  closure  —  Was  it  the 
mist  ?  Was  it  the  moonbeam  ?  Was  it  the 
glimmer  of  yellow  hair  ?  Did  he  see,  leaning 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.        209 

on  the  palings,  "restin'  awhile,"  the  grace- 
ful figure  he  remembered  so  well  ?  He  was 
dreaming,  surely  ;  or  were  those  deep,  instarred 
eyes  really  fixed  upon  him  with  that  wistful 
gaze  which  he  had  seen  only  twice  before  ? 
—  once  here,  where  he  had  met  her,  and  once 
when  she  died.  She  was  approaching  him  ;  she 
was  so  close  he  might  have  touched  her  hand. 
Was  it  cold,  he  wondered ;  cold  as  it  was  when 
he  held  it  last  ?  He  hardly  knew,  —  but  she 
was  seated  beside  him,  as  in  that  crimson  sun- 
set-tide, and  they  were  driving  together  at  a 
frenzied  speed  through  the  broken  shadows  of 
the  wintry  woods.  He  did  not  turn  his  head, 
and  yet  he  saw  her  face,  drawn  in  lines  of  pal- 
lid light  and  eloquent  with  some  untranslated 
emotion  of  mingled  wonderment  and  pleasure 
and  pain.  Like  the  wind  they  sped  together 
through  the  mist  and  the  moonbeam,  over  the 
wild  mountain  road,  through  the  flashing  moun- 
tain waters,  down,  down  the  steep  slope  toward 
the  red  brick  house,  where  a  light  still  burned, 
and  his  friend  was  waiting.  He  did  not  know 
when  she  slipped  from  his  side.  He  did  not 
know  when  this  mad  pace  was  checked.  He 
only  regained  his  faculties  after  he  had  burst 
into  the  warm  home  atmosphere,  a  ghastly  hor- 
ror in  his  face  and  his  frantic  fright  upon  his 
lips. 

U 


210          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Trelawney  stood  breathless. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,"  cried  Cleaver.  "  I  have 
spoken  sacrilege.  It  was  only  hallucination  ;  I 
know  it  now." 

Trelawney  was  shaken.  "Hallucination?" 
he  faltered,  with  quivering  lips. 

"  I  did  not  reflect,"  said  Cleaver.  "  I  would 
not  have  jarred  your  feelings.  I  am  ill  and  ner- 
vous." 

Trelawney  was  too  broken  to  resent,  to  heed, 
or  to  answer.  He  sat  cold  and  shivering,  un- 
conscious of  the  changed  eyes  watching  him, 
unconscious  of  a  new  idea  kindling  there,  —  be- 
ginning to  flicker,  to  burn,  to  blaze,  —  uncon- 
scious of  the  motive  with  which  his  friend  after 
a  time  drew  close  to  the  table  and  fell  to  writ- 
ing with  furious  energy,  unconscious  that  in  this 
moment  Cleaver's  fortune  was  made. 

And  thus  he  wrote  on  day  after  day.  So  clev- 
erly did  he  analyze  his  own  mental  and  nervous 
condition,  so  unsparing  and  insidious  was  this 
curious  introversion,  that  when  his  treatise  on 
the  "  Derangement  of  the  Nervous  Functions  " 
was  given  to  the  world  it  was  in  no  degree 
remarkable  that  it  should  have  attracted  the 
favorable  attention  of  the  medical  profession  ; 
that  the  portion  devoted  to  hallucinations  should 
have  met  with  high  praise  in  high  quarters; 
that  the  young  physician's  successful  work 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.        211 

should  have  brought  him  suddenly  to  the  re- 
membrance of  many  people  who  had  almost  for- 
gotten poor  John  Cleaver.  No  one  knew,  no 
one  ever  knew,  its  romantic  inspiration.  No 
one  ever  knew  the  strange  source  whence  he 
had  this  keen  insight ;  how  his  imperious  will 
had  held  his  shaken,  distraught  nerves  for  the 
calm  scrutiny  of  science;  how  his  senses  had 
played  him  false,  and  that  stronger,  subtler 
critical  entity,  his  intellect,  had  marked  the 
antics  of  its  double  self  and  noted  them  down. 

Among  the  men  to  whom  his  treatise  brought 
John  Cleaver  to  sudden  remembrance  was  a 
certain  notable  physician.  He  was  growing  in- 
firm now,  his  health  was  failing,  his  heavy  prac- 
tice was  too  heavy  for  his  weakening  hands. 
He  gave  to  the  young  fellow's  work  the  meed 
of  his  rare  approval,  cleverly  gauged  the  clev- 
erness behind  it,  and  wrote  to  Cleaver  to  come. 

And  so  he  returned  to  his  accustomed  and 
appropriate  sphere.  In  his  absence  his  world 
had  flattened,  narrowed,  dulled  strangely.  Peo- 
ple were  sordid,  and  petty,  and  coarse-minded  ; 
and  society  —  his  little  clique  that  he  called  so- 
ciety —  possessed  a  painfully  predominating  ele- 
ment of  snobs ;  men  who  had  given  him  no  no- 
tice before  were  pleased  to  be  noticed  now,  and 
yet  the  lucky  partnership  was  covertly  com- 
mented upon  as  the  freak  of  an  old  man  in  his 


212         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

dotage.  He  was  suddenly  successful,  he  had 
suddenly  a  certain  prospect  of  wealth,  he  was 
suddenly  bitter.  He  thought  much  in  these 
days  of  his  friend  Trelawney  and  the  indepen- 
dent, money-scorning  aristocrats  of  the  moun^ 
tains,  of  the  red  hills  of  the  Indian  summerf 
and  the  towering  splendors  of  Sunrise  Rock, 
That  high  air  was  perhaps  too  rare  for  his  lungs, 
but  he  was  sensible  of  the  density  of  the  denser 
medium. 

As  to  that  vague  and  tender  mystery,  the 
ghost  that  he  saw,  it  had  been  exorcised  by 
prosaic  science.  But  it  made  his  fortune,  it 
crowned  his  life,  it  bestowed  upon  him  all  he 
craved.  Perhaps  if  she  could  know  the  wonder- 
ful work  she  had  wrought  in  his  future,  the 
mountain  girl,  who  had  given  her  heart  unasked, 
might  rest  more  easily  in  her  grave  than  on  that 
night  when  she  had  come  from  among  the  moon- 
lit mounds  beneath  Sunrise  Rock,  and  once 
more  sat  beside  him  as  he  drove  through  shadow 
and  sheen.  For  whether  it  was  the  pallid  mist, 
whether  it  was  the  silver  moon,  whether  it  was 
the  fantasy  of  an  overwrought  brain,  or  whether 
that  mysterious  presence  was  of  an  essence  more 
ethereal  than  any,  who  can  know  ? 

In  these  days  he  carried  his  friend's  interest 
close  to  his  heart.  He  opened  a  way  in  the 
crowd,  but  Trelawney  held  back  from  the  hands 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  SUNRISE  ROCK.         213 

stretched  out.  Pie  had  become  wedded  to  the 
place.  The  years  since  have  brought,  him  a 
quiet,  uneventful,  not  unhappy  existence.  Af- 
ter a  time  he  grew  more  cheerful,  but  not  less 
gentle,  and  none  the  less  beloved  of  his  simple 
neighbors.  They  feel  vaguely  sometimes  that 
since  he  first  came  among  them  he  is  a  saddened 
man,  and  are  moved  to  ask  with  sympathetic 
solicitude  concerning  the  news  from  his  supposi- 
titious folks  "  down  thar  in  the  valley  whar  ye 
hails  from."  The  fortune  in  sheep-farming  still 
eludes  his  languid  pursuit.  The  red  brick  house 
is  disorganized  and  dilapidated  as  of  yore ;  a 
sense  of  loneliness  broods  upon  it,  hardly  less 
intense  than  the  loneliness  of  the  mighty  en- 
compassing forest.  Deep  in  these  solitudes  he 
often  strolls  for  hours,  most  often  in  the  crim- 
son and  purple  eventides  along  the  road  that 
passes  beneath  Sunrise  Rock  and  encircles  the 
little  graveyard  of  the  mountaineers.  Here  Tre- 
lawney  leans  on  the  palings  while  the  sun  goes 
down,  and  looks,  with  his  sore  heart  bleeding 
anew,  upon  one  grassy  mound  till  the  shadows 
and  the  tears  together  blot  it  from  his  sight. 
Sometimes  his  heart  is  not  sore,  only  sad. 
Sometimes  it  is  tender  and  resigned,  and  he 
turns  to  the  sunrise  emblazoned  on  the  rock  and 
thinks  of  the  rising  Sun  of  Righteousness  with 
healing  in  his  wings.  For  the  skepticism  of  his 


214         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

college  days  has  fallen  from  him  somehow,  and 
his  views  have  become  primitive,  like  those  of 
his  primitive  neighbors.  There  is  a  certain  calm 
and  strength  in  the  old  theories.  With  the 
dawn  of  a  gentle  and  hopeful  peace  in  his  heart, 
very  like  the  comfort  of  religion,  he  goes  his 
way  in  the  misty  moonrise. 

And  sometimes  John  Cleaver,  so  far  away,  as 
with  a  second  sight  becomes  subtly  aware  of 
these  things.  He  remembers  how  Trelawney 
is  deceived,  and  a  remorse  falls  on  him  in  the 
still  darkness,  and  tears  and  mangles  him. 
And  yet  there  are  no  words  for  confession,  — 
there  is  nothing  to  confess.  Would  his  conjec- 
ture, his  unsupported  conviction,  avail  aught ; 
would  it  not  be  cruel  to  re-open  old  wounds 
with  the  sharp  torture  of  a  doubt  ?  And  the 
daybreak  finds  him  with  these  questions  un- 
solved, and  his  heart  turning  wistfully  to  that 
true  and  loyal  friend,  with  his  faithful,  un- 
requited love  still  lingering  about  the  grave  of 
the  girl  who  died  with  her  love  unrequited. 


THE  DANCIN'  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S 
COVE. 


"  FUR  ye  see,  Mis'  Darley,  them  Harrison 
folks  over  yander  ter  the  Cove  hev  determi- 
nated on  a  dancin'  party." 

The  drawling  tones  fell  unheeded  on  old  Mr. 
Kenyon's  ear,  as  he  sat  on  the  broad  hotel  piazza 
of  the  New  Helvetia  Springs,  and  gazed  with 
meditative  eyes  at  the  fair  August  sky.  An 
early  moon  was  riding,  clear  and  full,  over  this 
wild  spur  of  the  Alleghanies  ;  the  stars  were  few 
and  very  faint ;  even  the  great  Scorpio  lurked, 
vaguely  outlined,  above  the  wooded  ranges  ;  and 
the  white  mist,  that  filled  the  long,  deep,  narrow 
valley  between  the  parallel  lines  of  mountains, 
shimmered  with  opalescent  gleams. 

All  the  world  of  the  watering-place  had  con- 
verged to  that  focus,  the  ball-room,  and  the  cool, 
moonlit  piazzas  were  nearly  deserted.  The  fell 
determination  of  the  "  Harrison  folks  "  to  give 
a  dancing  party  made  no  impression  on  the  pre- 
occupied old  gentleman.  Another  voice  broke 


216          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS, 

his  reverie,  —  a  soft,  clear,  well-modulated  voice, 
—  and  he  started  and  turned  his  head  as  his  own 
name  was  called,  and  his  niece,  Mrs.  Darley, 
came  to  the  window. 

"  Uncle  Ambrose,  —  are  you  there  ?  So  glad  ! 
I  was  afraid  you  were  down  at  the  summer- 
house,  where  I  hear  the  children  singing.  Do 
come  here  a  moment,  please.  This  is  Mrs.  Johns, 
who  brings  the  Indian  peaches  to  sell,  —  you 
know  the  Indian  peaches  ?  " 

Mr.  Kenyon  knew  the  Indian  peaches,  the 
dark  crimson  fruit  streaked  with  still  darker 
lines,  and  full  of  blood-red  juice,  which  he  had 
meditatively  munched  that  very  afternoon.  Mr. 
Kenyon  knew  the  Indian  peaches  right  well. 
He  wondered,  however,  what  had  brought  Mrs. 
Johns  back  in  so  short  a  time,  for  although  the 
principal  industry  of  the  mountain  people  about 
the  New  Helvetia  Springs  is  selling  fruit  to  the 
summer  sojourners,  it  is  not  customary  to  come 
twice  on  the  same  day,  nor  to  appear  at  all  after 
nightfall. 

Mrs.  Darley  proceeded  to  explain. 

"  Mrs.  Johns's  husband  is  ill  and  wants  us  to 
send  him  some  medicine." 

Mr.  Kenyon  rose,  threw-  away  the  stump  of 
his  cigar,  and  entered  the  room.  "  How  long 
has  he  been  ill,  Mrs.  Johns?  "he  asked,  dis- 
mally. 


DANC1W   PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S   COVE.    217 

Mr.  Ken  yon  always  spoke  lugubriously,  and 
he  was  a  dismal-looking  old  man.  Not  more 
cheerful  was  Mrs.  Johns  ;  she  was  tall  and  lank, 
and  with  such  a  face  as  one  never  sees  except 
in  these  mountains,  —  elongated,  sallow,  thin, 
with  pathetic,  deeply  sunken  eyes,  and  high 
cheek-bones,  and  so  settled  an  expression  of 
hopeless  melancholy  that  it  must  be  that  naught 
but  care  and  suffering  had  been  her  lot ;  hold- 
ing out  wasted  hands  to  the  years  as  they  pass, 
—  holding  them  out  always,  and  always  empty. 
She  wore  a  shabby,  faded  calico,  and  spoke  with 
the  peculiar  expressionless  drawl  of  the  moun- 
taineer. She  was  a  wonderful  contrast  to  Mrs. 
Darley,  all  furbelows  and  flounces,  with  her 
fresh,  smooth  face  and  soft  hair,  and  plump, 
round  arms  half -revealed  by  the  flowing  sleeves 
of  her  thin,  black  dress.  Mrs.  Darley  was  in 
mourning,  and  therefore  did  not  affect  the  ball- 
room. At  this  moment,  on  benevolent  thoughts 
intent,  she  was  engaged  in  uncorking  sundry 
small  phials,  gazing  inquiringly  at  their  labels, 
and  shaking  their  contents. 

In  reply  to  Mr.  Kenyon's  question,  Mrs. 
Johns,  sitting  on  the  extreme  edge  of  a  chair 
and  fanning  herself  with  a  pink  calico  sun-bon- 
net, talked  about  her  husband,  and  a  misery  in 
his  side  and  in  his  back,  and  how  he  felt  it 
"  a-comin'  on  nigh  on  fcer  a  week  ago."  Mr. 


218  IN  THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Kenyon  expressed  sympathy,  and  was  surprised 
by  the  announcement  that  Mrs.  Johns  consid- 
ered her  husband's  illness  "  a  blessin',  'kase  ef 
he  war  able  ter  git  out  'n  his  bed,  he  'lowed  ter 
go  down  ter  Harrison's  Cove  ter  the  dancin' 
party,  'kase  Rick  Pearson  war  a-goin'  ter  be 
thar,  an'  hed  said  ez  how  none  o'  the  Johnses 
should  come." 

"  What,  Rick  Pearson,  that  terrible  outlaw  !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Darley,  with  wide  open  blue 
eyes.  She  had  read  in  the  newspapers  sundry 
thrilling  accounts  of  a  noted  horse  thief  and  out- 
law, who  with  a  gang  of  kindred  spirits  defied 
justice  and  roamed  certain  sparsely-populated 
mountainous  counties  at  his  own  wild  will,  and 
she  was  not  altogether  without  a  feeling  of  fear 
as  she  heard  of  his  proximity  to  the  New  Helve- 
tia Springs,  —  not  fear  for  life  or  limb,  because 
she  was  practical-minded  enough  to  reflect  that 
the  sojourners  and  employe's  of  the  watering- 
place  would  far  outnumber  the  outlaw's  troop, 
but  fear  that  a  pair  of  shiny  bay  ponies,  Castor 
and  Pollux,  would  fall  victims  to  the  crafty 
wij^s  of  the  expert  horse  thief. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  something  of  a  diffi- 
culty between  your  people  and  Rick  Pearson," 
said  old  Mr.  Kenyon.  "  Has  a  peace  never 
been  patched  up  between  them  ?  " 

"  No-o,"  drawled  Mrs.  Johns ;  "  same  as  it 


DANCIN*  PARTY  AT  HARRISONS   COVE.    219 

always  war.  My  old  man  '11  never  believe  but 
what  Rick  Pearson  stole  that  thar  bay  filly  we 
lost  'bout  five  year  ago.  But  I  don't  believe  he 
done  it ;  plenty  other  folks  around  is  ez  mean 
ez  Rick,  leastways  mos'  ez  mean  ;  plenty  mean 
enough  ter  steal  a  horse,  ennyhow.  Rick  say  he 
never  tuk  the  filly  ;  say  he  war  a-goin'  ter  shoot 
off  the  nex'  man's  head  ez  say  so.  Rick  say 
he  'd  ruther  give  two  bay  fillies  than  hev  a  man 
say  he  tuk  a  horse  ez  he  never  tuk.  Rick  say 
ez  how  he  kin  stand  up  ter  what  he  does  do,  but 
it 's  these  hyar  lies  on  him  what  kills  him  out. 
But  ye  know,  Mis'  Darley,  ye  know  yerself, 
he  never  give  nobody  two  bay  fillies  in  this 
world,  an'  what 's  more  he  's  never  goin'  ter. 
My  old  man  an'  my  boy  Kossute  talks  on  'bout 
that  thar  bay  filly  like  she  war  stole  yestiddy, 
an'  't  war  five  year  ago  an'  better ;  an'  when 
they  hearn  ez  how  Rick  Pearson  hed  showed 
that  red  head  o'  his'n  on  this  hyar  mounting  las' 
week,  they  war  fightin'  mad,  an'  would  hev  lit 
out  fur  the  gang  sure,  'ceptin'  they  hed  been 
gone  down  the  mounting  fur  two  days.  An'  my 
son  Kossute,  he  sent  Rick  word  that  he  had  bet- 
ter keep  out  'n  gunshot  o'  these  hyar  woods ; 
that  he  did  n't  want  no  better  mark  than  that 
red  head  o'  his'n,  an'  he  could  hit  it  two  mile 
off.  An'  Rick  Pearson,  he  sent  Kossute  word 
that  he  would  kill  him  fur  his  sass  the  very  nex' 


220          IN   THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

time  he  see  him,  an'  ef  he  don't  want  a  bullet 
in  that  pumpkin  head  o'  his  'n  he  hed  better 
keep  away  from  that  dancin'  party  what  the 
Harrisons  hev  laid  off  ter  give,  'kase  Rick  say 
he  's  a-goin'  ter  it  hisself,  an'  is  a-goin'  ter  dance 
too ;  he  ain't  been  invited,  Mis'  Daiiey,  but 
Rick  don't  keer  fur  that.  He  is  a-goin'  enny- 
how,  an'  he  say  ez  how  he  ain't  a-goin'  ter  let 
Kossute  come,  'count  o'  Kossute's  sass  an'  the 
fuss  they  've  all  made  'bout  that  bay  filly  that 
war  stole  five  year  ago,  —  't  war  five  year  an' 
better.  But  Rick  say  ez  how  he  is  goin',  fur  all 
he  ain't  got  no  invite,  an'  is  a-goin'  ter  dance 
too,  'kase  you  know,  Mis'  Darley,  it 's  a-goin' 
ter  be  a  dancin'  party  ;  the  Harrisons  hev  deter- 
minated on  that.  Them  gals  of  theirn  air  mos' 
crazed  'bout  a  dancin'  party.  They  ain't  been 
a  bit  of  account  sence  they  went  ter  Cheatham's 
Cross-Roads  ter  see  thar  gran'mother,  an'  picked 
up  all  them  queer  new  notions.  So  the  Harri- 
sons hev  determinated  on  a  dancin'  party ;  an' 
Rick  say  ez  how  he  is  goin'  ter  dance  too ;  but 
Jule,  she  say  ez  how  she  know  thar  ain't  a  gal 
on  the  mounting  ez  would  dance  with  him  ;  but 
I  ain't  so  sure  'bout  that,  Mis'  Darley;  gals  air 
cur'ous  critters,  ye  know  yerself ;  thar 's  no 
sort  o'  countin'  on  'em ;  they  '11  do  one  thing 
one  time,  an'  another  thing  nex'  time ;  ye  can't 
put  no  dependence  in  'em.  But  Jule  say 


DANCIW  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE.     221 

ef  he  kin  git  Mandy  Tyler  ter  dance  with  him, 
it  's  the  mos'  he  kin  do,  an'  the  gang  '11  be 
no  whar.  Mebbe  he  kin  git  Mandy  ter  dance 
with  him,  'kase  the  other  boys  say  ez  how  none 
o'  them  is  a-goin'  ter  ax  her  ter  dance,  'count 
of  the  trick  she  played  on  'em  down  ter  the 
Wilkins  settlemint  —  las'  month,  war  it  ?  no, 
't  war  two  month  ago,  an'  better  ;  but  the  boys 
ain't  forgot  how  scandalous  she  done  'em,  an' 
none  of  'em  is  a-goin'  ter  ax  her  ter  dance." 

"  Why,'  what  did  she  do?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Daiiey,  surprised.  "  She  came  here  to  sell 
peaches  one  day,  and  I  thought  her  such  a  nice, 
pretty,  well-behaved  girl." 

"  Waal,  she  hev  got  mighty  quiet  say-nuthin' 
sort  'n  ways,  Mis'  Darley,  but  that  thar  gal  do 
behave  ridiculous.  Down  thar  ter  the  Wilkins 
settlemint,  —  ye  know  it 's  'bout  two  mile  or 
two  mile  'n  a  half  from  hyar,  —  waal,  all  the 
gals  walked  down  thar  ter  the  party  an  hour  by 
sun,  but  when  the  boys  went  down  they  tuk 
thar  horses,  ter  give  the  gals  a  ride  home  be- 
hind 'em.  Waal,  every  boy  axed  his  gal  ter 
ride  while  the  party  war  goin'  on,  an'  when 
't  war  all  over  they  all  set  out  fur  ter  come  home. 
Waal,  this  hyar  Mandy  Tyler  is  a  mighty  favo- 
rite  'mongst  the  boys,  —  they  ain't  got  no  sense, 
ye  know,  Mis'  Darley,  —  an'  stiddier  one  of 
'em  axin'  her  ter  ride  home,  thar  war  five  of 


222          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

'em  axed  her  ter  ride,  ef  ye  '11  believe  me,  an1 
what  do  ye  think  she  done,  Mis'  Darley  ?  She 
tole  all  five  of  'em  yes  ;  an'  when  the  party  war 
over,  she  war  the  last  ter  go,  an'  when  she  started 
out  'n  the  door,  thar  war  all  five  of  them  boys 
a-standin'  thar  waitin'  fur  her,  an'  every  one 
a-holdin'  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  an'  none  of  'em 
knowed  who  the  others  war  a-waitin'  fur.  An' 
this  hyar  Mandy  Tyler,  when  she  got  ter  the 
door  an'  seen  'em  all  a-standin'  thar,  never  said 
one  word,  jest  walked  right  through  'mongst 
'em,  an'  set  out  fur  the  mounting  on  foot  with 
all  them  five  boys  a-followin'  an'  a-leadin'  thar 
horses  an'  a-quarrelin'  enough  ter  take  off  each 
others'  heads  'bout  which  one  war  a-goin'  ter 
ride  with  her  ;  which  none  of  'em  did,  Mis'  Dar- 
ley, fur  I  hearn  ez  how  the  whole  lay-out  footed 
it  all  the  way  ter  New  Helveshy.  An'  thar 
would  hev  been  a  fight  'mongst  'em,  'ceptin'  her 
brother,  Jacob  Tyler,  went  along  with  'em,  an' 
tried  ter  keep  the  peace  atwixt  'em.  An'  Mis' 
Darley,  all  them  married  folks  down  thar  at  the 
party  —  them  folks  in  the  Wilkins  settlemint 
is  the  biggest  fools,  sure  —  when  all  them  mar- 
ried folks  come  out  ter  the  door,  an'  see  the  way 
Mandy  Tyler  hed  treated  them  boys,  they  jest 
hollered  and  laffed  an'  thought  it  war  mighty 
smart  an'  funny  in  Mandy  ;  but  she  never  say 
a  word  till  she  kem  up  the  mounting,  an'  I 


DANCIN'  PARTY  AT  HARRISONS  COVE.    223 

never  hearn  ez  how  she  say  ennything  then. 
An'  now  the  boys  all  say  none  of  'em  is  a-goin' 
ter  ax  her  ter  dance,  ter  pay  her  back  fur  them 
fool  airs  of  hern.  But  Kossute  say  he  '11  dance 
with  her  ef  none  the  rest  will.  Kossute  he 
thought  't  war  all  mighty  funny  too,  —  he  's 
sech  a  fool  'bout  gals,  Kossute  is,  —  but  Jule, 
she  thought  ez  how  't  war  scandalous." 

Mrs.  Darley  listened  in  amused  surprise  ;  that 
these  mountain  wilds  could  sustain  a  first-class 
coquette  was  an  idea  that  had  not  hitherto  en- 
tered her  mind  ;  however,  "  that  thar  Mandy  " 
seemed,  in  Mrs.  Johns's  opinion  at  least,  to 
merit  the  unenviable  distinction,  and  the  party 
at  Wilkins  settlement  and  the  prospective  gay- 
ety  of  Harrison's  Cove  awakened  the  same 
sentiments  in  her  heart  and  mind  as  do  the 
more  ambitions  germans  and  kettledrums  of  the 
lowland  cities  in  the  heart  and  mind  of  Mrs. 
Grundy.  Human  nature  is  the  same  every- 
where, and  the  Wilkins  settlement  is  a  micro- 
cosm. The  metropolitan  centres,  stripped  of 
the  civilization  of  wealth,  fashion,  and  culture, 
would  present  only  the  bare  skeleton  of  human- 
ity outlined  in  Mrs.  Johns's  talk  of  Harrison's 
Cove,  the  Wilkins  settlement,  the  enmities  and 
scandals  and  sorrows  and  misfortunes  of  the 
mountain  ridge.  As  the  absurd  resemblance 
developed,  Mrs.  Darley  could  not  forbear  a 


224         IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

smile.  Mrs.  Johns  looked  up  with  a  momen- 
fyiry  expression  of  surprise  ;  the  story  presented 
no  humorous  phase  to  her  perceptions,  but  she 
too  smiled  a  little  as  she  repeated,  "  Scandalous, 
ain't  it  ?  "  and  proceeded  in  the  same  lack-lustre 
tone  as  before. 

"  Yes,  —  Kossute  say  ez  how  he  '11  dance 
with  her  ef  none  the  rest  will,  fur  Kossute  say 
ez  how  he  hev  laid  off  ter  dance,  Mis'  Darley  ; 
an'  when  1  ax  him  what  he  thinks  will  become 
of  his  soul  ef  he  dances,  he  say  the  devil  may 
crack  away  at  it,  an'  ef  he  kin  hit  it  he 's  wel- 
come. Fur  soul  or  no  soul  he  's  a-goin'  ter 
dance.  Kossute  is  a-fixin'  of  hisself  this  very 
minit  ter  go ;  but  I  am  verily  afeard  the  boy  '11 
be  slaughtered,  Mis'  Darley,  'kase  thar  is  goin' 
ter  be  a  fight,  an'  ye  never  in  all  yer  life  hearn 
sech  sass  ez  Kossute  and  Rick  Pearson  done 
sent  word  ter  each  other." 

Mr.  Kenyon  expressed  some  surprise  that  she 
should  fear  for  so  young  a  fellow  as  Kossuth. 
"  Surely,"  he  said,  "  the  man  is  not  brute 
enough  to  injure  a  mere  boy  ;  your  son  is  a 
mere  boy." 

"  That 's  so,"  Mrs.  Johns  drawled.  "Kossute 
ain't  more  '11  twenty  year  old,  an'  Rick  Pearson 
is  double  that  ef  he  is  a  day ;  but  ye  see  it 's 
the  fire-arms  ez  makes  Kossute  more  'n  a  match 
fur  him,  'kase  Kossute  is  the  best  shot  on  the 


DANCIW  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE.     225 

mounting,  an'  Rick  knows  that  in  a  shootin' 
fight  Kossute  's  better  able  ter  take  keer  of  his- 
self  an'  hurt  somebody  else  nor  ennybody.  Kos- 
sute 's  more  likely  ter  hurt  Rick  nor  Rick  is  ter 
hurt  him  in  a  shootin'  fight ;  but  ef  Rick  did  n't 
hurt  him,  an'  he  war  ter  shoot  Rick,  the  gang 
would  tear  him  ter  pieces  in  a  minit ;  and 
'mongst  'em  I  'm  actially  afeard  they  '11  slaugh- 
ter the  boy." 

Mr.  Kenyon  looked  even  graver  than  was  his 
wont  upon  receiving  this  information,  but  said 
no  more  ;  and  after  giving  Mrs.  Johns  the  feb- 
rifuge she  wished  for  her  husband,  he  returned 
to  his  seat  on  the  piazza. 

Mrs.  Darley  watched  him  with  some  little 
indignation  as  he  proceeded  to  light  a  fresh  ci- 
gar. "  How  cold  and  unsympathetic  uncle  Am- 
brose is,"  she  said  to  herself.  And  after  con- 
doling effusively  with  Mrs.  Johns  on  her  appre- 
hensions for  her  son's  safety,  she  returned  to 
the  gossips  in  the  hotel  parlor,  and  Mrs.  Johns, 
with  her  pink  calico  sun-bonnet  on  her  head, 
went  her  way  in  the  brilliant  summer  moon 
light. 

The  clear  lustre  shone  white  upon  all  the 
dark  woods  and  chasms  and  flashing  waters  that 
lay  between  the  New  Helvetia  Springs  and  the 
wide,  deep  ravine  called  Harrison's  Cove,  where 
from  a  rude  log  hut  the  vibrations  of  a  violin, 

16 


226  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

and  the  quick  throb  of  dancing  feet,  already  min- 
gled with  the  impetuous  rush  of  a  mountain 
stream  close  by  and  the  weird  night-sounds  of 
the  hills,  —  the  cry  of  birds  among  the  tall  trees, 
the  stir  of  the  wind,  the  monotonous  chanting 
of  frogs  at  the  water-side,  the  long,  drowsy 
drone  of  the  nocturnal  insects,  the  sudden  faint 
blast  of  a  distant  hunter's  horn,  and  the  far 
baying  of  hounds. 

Mr.  Harrison  had  four  marriageable  daughters, 
and  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  some- 
,  thing  must  be  done  for  the  girls  ;  for,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  the  prudent  father  exists  even 
among  the  "  mounting  folks."  Men  there  real- 
ize the  importance  of  providing  suitable  homes 
for  their  daughters  as  men  do  elsewhere,  and 
the  eligible  youth  is  as  highly  esteemed  in  those 
wilds  as  is  the  much  scarcer  animal  at  a  fash- 
ionable watering-place.  Thus  it  was  that  Mr. 
Harrison  had  "  determinated  on  a  dancin' 
party."  True,  he  stood  in  bodily  fear  of  the 
judgment  day  and  the  circuit-rider;  but  the 
dancing  party  was  a  rarity  eminently  calculated 
to  please  the  young  hunters  of  the  settlements 
round  about,  so  he  swallowed  his  qualms,  to  be 
indulged  at  a  more  convenient  season,  and  threw 
himself  into  the  vortex  of  preparation  with  an 
ardor  very  gratifying  to  the  four  young  ladies, 
who  had  become  imbued  with  sophistication  at 
Cheatham's  Cross-Roads. 


DANCIN'  PARTY  AT  HARRISONS   COVE.    227 

Not  so  Mrs.  Harrison ;  she  almost  expected 
the  house  to  fall  and  crush  them,  as  a  judgment 
on  the  wickedness  of  a  dancing  party  ;  for  so 
heinous  a  sin,  in  the  estimation  of  the  greater 
part  of  the  mountain  people,  had  not  been  com- 
mitted among  them  for  many  a  day.  Such  tri- 
fles as  killing  a  man  in  a  quarrel,  or  on  suspi- 
cion of  stealing  a  horse,  or  wash-tub,  or  anything 
that  came  handy,  of  course,  does  not  count ;  but 
a  dancing  party !  Mrs.  Harrison  could  only 
hold  her  idle  hands,  and  dread  the  heavy  pen- 
alty that  must  surely  follow  so  terrible  a  crime. 

It  certainly  had  not  the  gay  and  lightsome 
aspect  supposed  to  be  characteristic  of  such  a 
scene  of  sin :  the  awkward  young  mountaineers 
clogged  heavily  about  in  their  uncouth  clothes 
and  rough  shoes,  with  the  stolid-looking,  lack- 
lustre maids  of  the  hill,  to  the  violin's  monoto- 
nous iteration  of  The  Chicken  in  the  Bread- 
Trough,  or  The  Rabbit  in  the  Pea-Patch,  —  all 
their  grave  faces  as  grave  as  ever.  The  music 
now  and  then  changed  suddenly  to  one  of  those 
wild,  melancholy  strains  sometimes  heard  in  old- 
fashioned  dancing  tunes,  and  the  strange  pa- 
thetic cadences  seemed  more  attuned  to  the 
rhythmical  dash  of  the  waters  rushing  over  their 
stone  barricades  out  in  the  moonlight  yonder, 
or  to  the  plaintive  siglis  of  the  winds  among  the 
great  dark  arches  of  the  primeval  forests,  than 


228  IN   THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

to  the  movement  of  the  heavy,  coarse  feet 
cing  a  solemn  measure  in  the  little  log  cabin  in 
Harrison's  Cove.  The  elders,  sitting  in  rush' 
bottomed  chairs  close  to  the  walls,  and  looking 
on  at  the  merriment,  well-pleased  despite  their 
religious  doubts,  were  somewhat  more  lively  ; 
every  now  and  then  a  guffaw  mingled  with  the 
violin's  resonant  strains  and  the  dancers'  well- 
marked  pace ;  the  women  talked  to  each  other 
with  somewhat  more  animation  than  was  their 
wont,  under  the  stress  of  the  unusual  excite- 
ment of  a  dancing  party,  and  from  out  the  shed- 
room  adjoining  came  an  anticipative  odor  of 
more  substantial  sin  than  the  fiddle  or  the  grave 
jiggling  up  and  down  the  rough  floor.  A  little 
more  cider  too,  and  a  very  bad  article  of  ille- 
gally-distilled whiskey,  were  ever  and  anon  cir- 
culated among  the  pious  abstainers  from  the 
dance  ;  but  the  sinful  votaries  of  Terpsichore 
could  brook  no  pause  nor  delay,  and  jogged  up 
and  down  quite  intoxicated  with  the  mirthful- 
ness  of  the  plaintive  old  airs  and  the  pleasure 
of  other  motion  than  following  the  plow  or  hoe- 
ing the  corn. 

And  the  moon  smiled  right  royally  on  her 
dominion :  on  the  long,  dark  ranges  of  moun- 
tains and  mist-filled  valleys  between  ;  on  the 
woods  and  streams,  and  on  all  the  half-dormant 
creatures  either  amongst  the  shadow-flecked 


DAN  GIN'  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE.    229 

foliage  or  under  the  crystal  waters;  on  the 
long,  white,  sandy  road  winding  in  and  out 
through  the  forest ;  on  the  frowning  crags  of  the 
wild  ravine ;  on  the  little  bridge  at  the  entrance 
of  the  gorge,  across  which  a  party  of  eight  men, 
heavily  armed  and  gallantly  mounted,  rode 
swiftly  and  disappeared  amid  the  gloom  of  the 
shadows. 

The  sound  of  the  galloping  of  horses  broke 
suddenly  on  the  music  and  the  noise  of  the  dan- 
cing ;  a  moment's  interval,  and  the  door  gently 
opened  and  the  gigantic  form  of  Rick  Pearson 
appeared  in  the  aperture.  He  was  dressed,  like 
the  other  mountaineers,  in  a  coarse  suit  of  brown 
jeans  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear,  the  trow- 
sers  stuffed  in  the  legs  of  his  heavy  boots  ;  he 
wore  an  old  soft  felt  hat,  which  he  did  not 
remove  immediately  on  entering,  and  a  pair  of 
formidable  pistols  at  his  belt  conspicuously 
challenged  attention.  He  had  auburn  hair, 
and  a  long  full  beard  of  a  lighter  tint  reach- 
ing almost  to  his  waist;  his  complexion  was 
much  tanned  by  the  sun,  and  roughened  by 
exposure  to  the  inclement  mountain  weather  ; 
his  eyes  were  brown,  deep-set,  and  from  under 
his  heavy  brows  they  looked  out  with  quick, 
sharp  glances,  and  occasionally  with  a  roguish 
twinkle ;  the  expression  of  his  countenance  was 
rather  good-humored,  —  a  sort  of  imperious 


230          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS, 

good-humor,  however,  —  the  expression  of  a 
man  accustomed  to  have  his  own  way  and  not 
to  be  trifled  with,  but  able  to  afford  some  ami- 
ability since  his  power  is  undisputed. 

He  stepped  slowly  into  the  apartment,  placed 
his  gun  against  the  wall,  turned,  and  solemnly 
gazed  at  the  dancing,  while  his  followers  trooped 
in  and  obeyed  his  example.  As  the  eight  guns, 
one  by  one,  rattled  against  the  wall,  there  was 
a  startled  silence  among  the  pious  elders  of  the 
assemblage,  and  a  sudden  disappearance  of  the 
animation  that  had  characterized  their  inter- 
course during  the  evening.  Mrs.  Harrison,  who 
by  reason  of  flurry  and  a  housewifely  pride  in  the 
still  unrevealed  treasures  of  the  shed-room  had 
well-nigh  forgotten  her  fears,  felt  that  the  antici- 
pated judgment  had  even  now  descended,  and  in 
what  terrible  and  unexpected  guise !  The  men 
turned  the  quids  of  tobacco  in  their  cheeks  and 
looked  at  each  other  in  uncertainty;  but  the 
dancers  bestowed  not  a  glance  upon  the  new- 
comers, and  the  musician  in  the  corner,  with  his 
eyes  half-closed,  his  head  bent  low  upon  the  in- 
strument, his  hard,  horny  hand  moving  the  bow 
back  and  forth  over  the  strings  of  the  crazy  old 
fiddle,  was  utterly  rapt  by  his  own  melody.  At 
the  supreme  moment  when  the  great  red  beard 
had  appeared  portentously  in  the  doorway  and 
fear  had  frozen  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Harrison 


DANCIN*  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE.    231 

within  her  at  the  ill-omened  apparition,  the 
host  was  in  the  shed-room  filling  a  broken-nosed 
pitcher  from  the  cider-barrel.  When  he  re- 
entered,  and  caught  sight  of  the  grave  sun- 
burned face  with  its  long  red  beard  and  sharp 
brown  eyes,  he  too  was  dismayed  for  an  instant, 
and  stood  silent  at  the  opposite  door  with  the 
pitcher  in  his  hand.  The  pleasure  and  the  pos- 
sible profit  of  the  dancing  party,  for  which  he 
had  expended  so  much  of  his  scanty  store  of 
this  world's  goods  and  risked  the  eternal  treas- 
ures laid  up  in  heaven,  were  a  mere  phantasm  ; 
for,  with  Rick  Pearson  among  them,  in  an  ill 
frame  of  mind  and  at  odds  with  half  the  men 
in  the  room,  there  would  certainly  be  a  fight, 
and  in  all  probability  one  would  be  killed,  and 
the  dancing  party  at  Harrison's  Cove  would  be 
a  text  for  the  bloody-minded  sermons  of  the 
circuit-rider  for  all  time  to  come.  However,  the 
father  of  four  marriageable  daughters  is  apt  to 
become  crafty  and  worldly-wise  ;  only  for  a 
moment  did  he  stand  in  indecision ;  then,  catch- 
ing suddenly  the  small  brown  eyes,  he  held  up 
the  pitcher  with  a  grin  of  invitation.  "  Rick  ! " 
he  called  out  above  the  scraping  of  the  violin 
and  the  clatter  of  the  dancing  feet,  "  slip  round 
hyar  ef  ye  kin,  I  've  got  somethin'  for  ye ; " 
and  he  shook  the  pitcher  significantly. 

Not  that  Mr.  Harrison  would  for  a  moment 


232          7^"  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

have  thought  of  Rick  Pearson  in  a  matrimonial 
point  of  view,  for  even  the  sophistication  of  the 
Cross-Roads  had  not  yet  brought  him  to  the 
state  of  mind  to  consider  such  a  half  loaf  as  this 
better  than  no  bread,  but  he  felt  it  imperative 
from  every  point  of  view  to  keep  that  set  of 
young  mountaineers  dancing  in  peace  and  quiet, 
and  their  guns  idle  and  out  of  mischief  against 
the  wall.  The  great  red  beard  disappeared  and 
reappeared  at  intervals,  as  Rick  Pearson  slipped 
along  the  gun-lined  wall  to  join  his  host  and  the 
cider-pitcher,  and  after  he  had  disposed  of  the 
refreshment,  in  which  the  gang  shared,  he  re- 
lapsed into  silently  watching  the  dancing  and 
meditating  a  participation  in  that  festivity. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  the  only  young  girl 
unprovided  with  a  partner  was  "  that  thar 
Mandy  Tyler,"  of  Wilkins  settlement  renown  ; 
the  young  men  had  rigidly  adhered  to  their  reso- 
lution to  ignore  her  in  their  invitations  to  dance, 
and  she  had  been  sitting  since  the  beginning  of 
the  festivities,  quite  neglected,  among  the  mar- 
ried people,  looking  on  at  the  amusement  which 
she  had  been  debarred  sharing  by  that  unpop- 
ular bit  of  coquetry  at  Wilkins  settlement. 
Nothing  of  disappointment  or  mortification  was 
expressed  in  her  countenance  ;  she  felt  the  slight 
of  course,  —  even  a  "  mounting  "  woman  is  sus- 
ceptible of  the  sting  of  wounded  pride ;  all  her 


DANCIW   PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE.    233 

long-anticipated  enjoyment  had  come  to  naught 
by  this  infliction  of  penance  for  her  ill-timed 
jest  at  the  expense  of  those  five  young  fellows 
dancing  with  their  triumphant  partners  and 
bestowing  upon  her  not  even  a  glance  ;  but  she 
looked  the  express  image  of  immobility  as  she 
sat  in  her  clean  pink  calico,  so  carefully  gotten 
up  for  the  occasion,  her  short  black  hair  curling 
about  her  ears,  and  watched  the  unending  reel 
with  slow,  dark  eyes.  Rick's  glance  fell  upon 
her,  and  without  further  hesitation  he  strode  over 
to  where  she  was  sitting  and  proffered  his  hand 
for  the  dance.  She  did  not  reply  immediately, 
but  looked  timidly  about  her  at  the  shocked 
pious  ones  on  either  side,  who  were  ready  but 
for  mortal  fear  to  aver  that  "dancin'  enny- 
how  air  bad  enough,  the  Lord  knows,  but 
dancin'  with  a  horse  thief  air  jest  scandalous!" 
Then,  for  there  is  something  of  defiance  to  es- 
tablished law  and  prejudice  in  the  born  flirt 
everywhere,  with  a  sudden  daring  spirit  shining 
in  her  brightening  eyes,  she  responded,  "  Don't 
keer  ef  I  do,"  with  a  dimpling  half-laugh;  and 
the  next  minute  the  two  outlaws  were  flying 
down  the  middle  together. 

While  Rick  was  according  grave  attention  to 
the  intricacies  of  the  mazy  dance  and  keeping 
punctilious  time  to  the  scraping  of  the  old  fid- 
dle, finding  it  all  a  much  more  difficult  feat  than 


234          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

galloping  from  the  Cross  Roads  to  the  "  Snake's 
Mouth"  on  some  other  man's  horse  with  the 
sheriff  hard  at  his  heels,  the  solitary  figure  of  a 
tall  gaunt  man  had  followed  the  long  winding 
path  leading  deep  into  the  woods,  and  now  be- 
gan the  steep  descent  to  Harrison's  Cove.  Of 
what  was  old  Mr.  Kenyon  thinking,  as  he 
walked  on  in  the  mingled  shadow  and  sheen  ? 
Of  St.  Augustin  and  his  Forty  Monks,  prob- 
ably, and  what  they  found  in  Britain.  The 
young  men  of  his  acquaintance  would  gladly 
have  laid  you  any  odds  that  he  could  think  of 
nothing  but  his  antique  hobby,  the  ancient 
church.  Mr.  Kenyon  was  the  most  prominent 
man  in  St.  Martin's  church  in  the  city  of 

B ,  not  excepting   the   rector.      He  was  a 

lay  -  reader,  and  officiated  upon  occasions  of 
"clerical  sore-throat,"  as  the  profane  denomi- 
nate the  ministerial  summer  exodus  from  heated 
cities.  This  summer,  however,  Mr.  Kenyon's 
own  health  had  succumbed,  and  he  was  having 
a  little  "  sore-throat "  in  the  mountains  on  his 
own  account.  Very  devout  was  Mr.  Kenyon. 
Many  people  wondered  that  he  had  never  taken 
orders.  Many  people  warmly  congratulated 
themselves  that  he  never  had ;  for  drier  ser- 
mons than  those  he  selected  were  surely  never 
heard,  and  a  shuddering  imagination  shrinks 
appalled  from  the  problematic  mental  drought 


DANCIN*  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S   COVE.    235 

of  his  ideal  original  discourse.  But  he  was 
an  integrant  part  of  St.  Martin's ;  much  of  his 
piety,  materialized  into  contributions,  was  built 
up  in  its  walls  and  shone  before  men  in  the  cost- 
liness of  its  decorations.  Indeed,  the  ancient 
name  had  been  conferred  upon  the  building  as 
a  sort  of  tribute  to  Mr.  Kenyon's  well-known 
enthusiasm  concerning  apostolic  succession  and 
kindred  doctrines. 

Dull  and  dismal  was  Mr.  Kenyon,  and  there- 
fore it  may  be  considered  a  little  strange  that  he 
should  be  a  notable  favorite  with  men.  They 
were  of  many  different  types,  but  with  one  in- 
variable bond  of  union  :  they  had  all  at  one 
time  served  as  soldiers ;  for  the  war,  now  ten 
years  passed  by,  its  bitterness  almost  forgotten, 
had  left  some  traces  that  time  can  never  oblit- 
erate. What  a  friend  was  the  droning  old 
churchman  in  those  days  of  battle  and  blood- 
shed and  suffering  and  death  !  Not  a  man  sat 
within  the  walls  of  St.  Martin's  who  had  not 
received  some  signal  benefit  from  the  hand 
stretched  forth  to  impress  the  claims  of  certain 
ante-Augustin  British  clergy  to  consideration 
and  credibility  ;  not  a  man  who  did  not  remem- 
ber stricken  fields  where  a  good  Samaritan 
went  about  under  shot  and  shell,  succoring  the 
wounded  and  comforting  the  dying  ;  not  a  man 
who  did  not  applaud  the  indomitable  spirit  and 


236         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

courage  that  cut  his  way  from  surrender  and 
safety,  through  solid  barriers  of  enemies,  to  de- 
liver the  orders  on  which  the  fate  of  an  army 
depended  ;  not  a  man  whose  memory  did  not 
harbor  fatiguing  recollections  of  long,  dull  ser- 
mons read  for  the  souls'  health  of  the  soldiery. 
And  through  it  all,  —  by  the  camp-fires  at 
night,  on  the  long  white  country-roads  in  the 
sunshiny  mornings ;  in  the  mountains  and  the 
morasses  ;  in  hilarious  advance  and  in  cheer- 
less retreat ;  in  the  heats  of  summer  and  by  the 
side  of  frozen  rivers,  the  ancient  British  clergy 
went  through  it  all.  And,  whether  the  old 
churchman's  premises  and  reasoning  were  false, 
whether  his  tracings  of  the  succession  were 
faulty,  whether  he  dropped  a  link  here  or  took 
in  one  there,  he  had  caught  the  spirit  of  those 
staunch  old  martyrs,  if  not  their  falling  churchly 
mantle. 

The  mountaineers  about  the  New  Helvetia 
Springs  supposed  that  Mr.  Kenyon  was  a  regu- 
larly ordained  preacher,  and  that  the  sermons 
which  they  had  heard  him  read  were,  to  use  the 
vernacular,  out  of  his  own  head.  For  many  of 
them  were  accustomed  on  Sunday  mornings  to 
occupy  humble  back  benches  in  the  ball-room, 
where  on  week-day  evenings  the  butterflies  so- 
journing at  New  Helvetia  danced,  and  on  the 
Sabbath  metaphorically  beat  their  breasts,  and 


DANCIN'  PARTY  AT  HARRISONS  COVE.    237 

literally  avowed  that  they  were  "  miserable  sin- 
ners," following  Mr.  Kenyon's  lugubrious  lead. 
The  conclusion  of  the  mountaineers  was  not 
unnatural,  therefore,  and  when  the  door  of  Mr. 
Harrison's  house  opened  and  another  uninvited 
guest  entered,  the  music  suddenly  ceased.  The 
half-closed  eyes  of  the  fiddler  had  fallen  upon 
Mr.  Kenyon  at  the  threshold,  and,  supposing 
him  a  clergyman,  he  immediately  imagined 
that  the  man  of  God  had  come  all  the  way 
from  New  Helvetia  Springs  to  stop  the  dancing 
and  snatch  the  revelers  from  the  jaws  of  hell. 
The  rapturous  bow  paused  shuddering  on  the 
string,  the  dancing  feet  were  palsied,  the  pious 
about  the  walls  were  racking  their  slow  brains 
to  excuse  their  apparent  conniving  at  sin  and 
bargaining  with  Satan,  and  Mr.  Harrison  felt 
that  this  was  indeed  an  unlucky  party  and  it 
would  undoubtedly  be  dispersed  by  the  direct 
interposition  of  Providence  before  the  shed- 
room  was  opened  and  the  supper  eaten.  As  to 
his  soul  —  poor  man  !  these  constantly  recur- 
ring social  anxieties  were  making  him  callous 
to  immortality ;  this  life  was  about  to  prove  too 
much  for  him,  for  the  fortitude  and  tact  even  of 
a  father  of  four  marriageable  young  ladies  has 
a  limit.  Mr.  Kenyon,  too,  seemed  dumb  as  he 
hesitated  in  the  door-way,  but  when  the  host, 
partially  recovering  himself,  came  forward  and 


238          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

offered  a  chair,  he  said  with  one  of  his  dismal 
smiles  that  he  hoped  Mr.  Harrison  had  no  ob- 
jection to  his  coming  in  and  looking  at  the 
dancing  for  a  while.  "  Don't  let  me  interrupt 
the  young  people,  I  beg,"  he  added,  as  he  seated 
himself.  The  astounded  silence  was  unbroken 
for  a  few  moments.  To  be  sure  he  was  not 
a  circuit-rider,  but  even  the  sophistication  of 
Cheatham's  Cross- Roads  had  never  heard  of  a 
preacher  who  did  not  object  to  dancing.  Mr. 
Harrison  could  not  believe  his  ears,  and  asked 
for  a  more  explicit  expression  of  opinion. 

"  Ye  say  ye  don't  keer  ef  the  boys  an'  gals 
dance?"  he  inquired.  "  Ye  don't  think  it's 
sinful?" 

And  after  Mr.  Kenyon's  reply,  in  which  the 
astonished  "  mounting  folks  "  caught  only  the 
surprising  statement  that  dancing  if  properly 
conducted  was  an  innocent,  cheerful,  and  health- 
ful amusement,  supplemented  by  something 
about  dancing  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  that 
in  all  charity  he  was  disposed  to  consider  ob- 
jections to  such  harmless  recreations  a  tithing 
of  mint  and  anise  and  cummin,  whereby  might 
ensue  a  neglect  of  weightier  matters  of  the 
law ;  that  clean  hands  and  clean  hearts  —  hands 
clean  of  blood  and  ill-gotten  goods,  and  hearts 
free  from  falsehood  and  cruel  intention  —  these 
were  the  things  well-pleasing  to  God,  —  after 


DANCIN'  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE.     239 

his  somewhat  prolix  reply,  the  gayety  recom- 
menced. The  fiddle  quavered  tremulously  at 
first,  but  soon  resounded  with  its  former  vigo- 
rous tones,  and  the  joy  of  the  dance  was  again 
exemplified  in  the  grave  joggling  back  and 
forth. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Harrison  sat  beside  this 
strange  new  guest  and  asked  him  questions  con- 
cerning  his  church,  being  instantly,  it  is  need- 
less to  say,  informed  of  its  great  antiquity,  of 
the  journeying  of  St.  Augustin  and  his  Forty 
Monks  to  Britain,  of  the  church  they  found  al- 
ready planted  there,  of  its  retreat  to  the  hills  of 
Wales  under  its  oppressors'  tyranny,  of  many 
cognate  themes,  side  issues  of  the  main  branch 
of  the  subject,  into  which  the  talk  naturally 
drifted,  the  like  of  which  Mr.  Harrison  had 
never  heard  in  all  his  days.  And  as  he  watched 
the  figures  dancing  to  the  violin's  strains,  and 
beheld  as  in  a  mental  vision  the  solemn  gyra- 
tions of  those  renowned  Forty  Monks  to  the 
monotone  of  old  Mr.  Kenyon's  voice,  he  ab- 
stractedly hoped  that  the  double  dance  would 
continue  without  interference  till  a  peaceable 
dawn. 

His  hopes  were  vain.  It  so  chanced  that 
Kossuth  Johns,  who  had  by  no  means  relin- 
quished all  idea  of  dancing  at  Harrison's  Cove 
and  defying  Rick  Pearson,  had  hitherto  been 


240          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

detained  by  his  mother's  persistent  entreaties, 
some  necessary  attentions  to  his  father,  and  the 
many  trials  which  beset  a  man  dressing  for  a 
party  who  has  very  few  clothes,  and  those  very 
old  and  worn.  Jule,  his  sister-in-law,  had  been 
most  kind  and  complaisant,  putting  on  a  button 
here,  sewing  up  a  slit  there,  darning  a  refrac- 
tory elbow,  and  lending  him  the  one  bright  rib- 
bon she  possessed  as  a  neck-tie.  But  all  these 
things  take  time,  and  the  moon  did  not  light 
Kossuth  down  the  gorge  until  she  was  shining 
almost  vertically  from  the  sky,  and  the  Harrison 
Cove  people  and  the  Forty  Monks  were  dancing 
together  in  high  feather.  The  ecclesiastic  dance 
halted  suddenly,  and  a  watchful  light  gleamed 
in  old  Mr.  Kenyon's  eyes  as  he  became  silent 
and  the  boy  stepped  into  the  room.  The  moon- 
light and  the  lamp-light  fell  mingled  on  the 
calm,  inexpressive  features  and  tall,  slender 
form  of  the  young  mountaineer.  "  Hy  're,  Kos- 
sute  !  "  A  cheerful  greeting  from  many  voices 
met  him.  The  next  moment  the  music  ceased 
once  again,  and  the  dancing  came  to  a  stand- 
still, for  as  the  name  fell  on  Pearson's  ear  he 
turned,  glanced  sharply  toward  the  door,  and 
drawing  one  of  his  pistols  from  his  belt  ad- 
vanced to  the  middle  of  the  room.  The  men 
fell  back  ;  so  did  the  frightened  women,  with- 
out screaming,  however,  for  that  indication  of 


DANCIN'  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE.    241 

feminine  sensibility  had  not  yet  penetrated  to 
Cheatham's  Cross-Roads,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
mountains. 

"I  told  ye  that  ye  war  n't  ter  come  hyar," 
said  Rjpk  Pearson  imperiously,  "  and  ye  've  got 
ter  go  home  ter  yer  mammy,  right  off,  or  ye  'li 
never  git  thar  no  more,  youngster." 

"  I  've  come  hyar  ter  put  you  out,  ye  cussed 
red-headed  horse  thief !  "  retorted  Kossuth,  an- 
grily ;  "  ye  hed  better  tell  me  whar  that  thar 
bay  filly  is,  or  light  out,  one." 

It  is  not  the  habit  in  the  mountains  to  parley 
long  on  these  occasions.  Kossuth  had  raised 
his  gun  to  his  shoulder  as  Rick,  with  his  pis- 
tol cocked,  advanced  a  step  nearer.  The  out- 
law's weapon  was  struck  upward  by  a  quick, 
strong  hand,  the  little  log  cabin  was  filled  with 
flash,  roar,  and  smoke,  and  the  stars  looked  in 
through  a  hole  in  the  roof  from  which  Rick's 
bullet  had  sent  the  shingles  flying.  He  turned 
in  mortal  terror  and  caught  the  hand  that  had 
struck  his  pistol,  —  in  mortal  terror,  for  Kos- 
suth was  the  crack  shot  of  the  mountains  and 
he  felt  he  was  a  dead  man.  The  room  was 
somewhat  obscured  by  smoke,  but  as  he  turned 
upon  the  man  who  had  disarmed  him,  for  the 
force  of  the  blow  had  thrown  the  pistol  to  the 
floor,  he  saw  that  the  other  hand  was  over  the 
muzzle  of  young  Johns's  gun,  and  Kossuth  was 

16 


242          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

swearing  loudly  that  by  the  Lord  Almighty  if 
he  did  n't  take  it  off  he  would  shoot  it  off. 

44  My  young  friend,"  Mr.  Kenyon  began,  with 
the  calmness  appropriate  to  a  devout  member 
of  the  one  catholic  and  apostolic  church  ;  but 
then,  the  old  Adam  suddenly  getting  the  upper- 
hand,  he  shouted  out  in  irate  tones,  "  If  you 
don't  stop  that  noise,  I  '11  break  your  head ! 
Well,  Mr.  Pearson,"  he  continued,  as  he  stood 
between  the  combatants,  one  hand  still  over  the 
muzzle  of  young  Johns's  gun,  the  other,  lean 
and  sinewy,  holding  Pearson's  powerful  right 
arm  with  a  vise-like  grip,  "  well,  Mr.  Pearson, 
you  are  not  so  good  a  soldier  as  you  used  to 
be  ;  you  did  n't  fight  boys  in  the  old  times." 

Rick  Pearson's  enraged  expression  suddenly 
gave  way  to  a  surprised  recognition.  "Ye  may 
drag  me  through  hell  an'  beat  me  with  a  soot- 
bag  ef  hyar  ain't  the  old  fightin'  preacher  agin  ! " 
he  cried. 

"  I  have  only  one  thing  to  say  to  you,"  said 
Mr.  Kenyon.  "  You  must  go.  I  will  not  have 
you  here  shooting  boys  and  breaking  up  a 
party." 

Rick  demurred.  "  See  hyar,  now,"  he  said, 
44  ye  Ve  got  no  business  meddlin'." 

"  You  must  go,"  Mr.  Kenyon  reiterated. 

44  Preachin  's  yer  business,"  Rick  continued  j 
'  'pears  like  ye  don't  'tend  to  it,  though." 


DANCIW  PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S  COVE.     243 

"  You  must  go." 

"  S'pose  I  say  I  won't,"  said  Rick,  good- 
humoredly  ;  "  I  s'pose  ye  'd  say  ye  'd  make 
me." 

"  You  must  go,"  repeated  Mr.  Kenyon.  "  I 
am  going  to  take  the  boy  home  with  me,  but  I 
intend  to  see  you  off  first." 
•  Mr.  Kenyon  had  prevented  the  hot-headed 
Kossuth  from  firing  by  keeping  his  hand  persis- 
tently over  the  muzzle  of  the  gun ;  and  young 
Johns  had  feared  to  try  to  wrench  it  away  lest 
it  should  discharge  in  the  effort.  Had  it  done 
so,  Mr.  Kenyon  would  have  been  in  sweet  con- 
verse with  the  Forty  Monks  in  about  a  minute 
and  a  quarter.  Kossuth  had  finally  let  go  the 
gun,  and  made  frantic  attempts  to  borrow  a 
weapon  from  some  of  his  friends,  but  the  stern 
authoritative  mandate  of^  the  belligerent  peace- 
maker had  prevented  them  from  gratifying  him, 
and  he  now  stood  empty-handed  beside  Mr. 
Kenyon,  who  had  shouldered  the  old  rifle  in  an 
absent-minded  manner,  although  still  retaining 
his  powerful  grasp  on  the  arm  of  the  outlaw. 

"  Waal,  parson,"  said  Rick  at  length,  "  I  '11 
go,  jest  ter  pleasure  you-uns.  Ye  see,  I  ain't 
forgot  Shiloh." 

"  I  am  not  talking  about  Shiloh  now,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  You  must  get  off  at  once,  —  all 
of  you,"  indicating  the  gang,  who  had  been  so 


244          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

whelmed   in  astonishment    that    they  had  not 
lifted  a  finger  to  aid  their  chief. 

"  Ye  say  ye  '11  take  that  —  that  "  —  Rick 
looked  hard  at  Kossuth  while  he  racked  his 
brains  for  an  injurious  epithet — "that  sassy 
child  home  ter  his  mammy  ?  " 

"  Come,  I  am  tired  of  this  talk,"  said  Mr. 
Kenyon  ;  "  you  must  go." 

Rick  walked  heavily  to  the  door  and  out  into 
the  moonlight.  "  Them  was  good  old  times," 
he  said  to  Mr.  Kenyon,  with  a  regretful  cadence 
in  his  peculiar  drawl ;  "  good  old  times,  them 
War  days.  I  wish  they  was  back  agin,  —  I  wish 
they  was  back  agin.  I  ain't  forgot  Shiloh  yit, 
though,  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter.  But  I  '11  tell 
ye  one  thing,  parson,"  he  added,  his  mind  re- 
verting from  ten  years  ago  to  the  scene  just 
past,  as  he  unhitched  his  horse  and  carefully  ex- 
amined the  saddle-girth  and  stirrups,  "  ye  're  a 
mighty  queer  preacher,  ye  air,  a-sittin'  up  an' 
lookin'  at  sinners  dance  an'  then  gittin'  in  a 
fight  that  don't  consarn  ye, — ye 're  a  mighty 
queer  preacher !  Ye  ought  ter  be  in  my  gang, 
that 's  whar  ye  ought  ter  be,"  he  exclaimed 
with  a  guffaw,  as  he  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup ; 
"  ye  've  got  a  damned  deal  too  much  grit  fur 
a  preacher.  But  I  ain't  forgot  Shiloh  yit,  an' 
I  don't  mean  ter,  nuther." 

A  shout  of  laughter  from  the  gang,  an  oath 


DANCIN'   PARTY  AT  HARRISON'S   COVE.     245 

or  two,  the  quick  tread  of  horses'  hoofs  pressing 
into  a  gallop,  and  the  outlaw's  troop  were  speed- 
ing along  the  narrow  paths  that  led  deep  into 
the  vistas  of  the  moonlit  summer  woods. 

As  the  old  churchman,  with  the  boy  at  his 
side  and  the  gun  still  on  his  shoulder,  ascended 
the  rocky,  precipitous  slope  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  ravine  above  the  foaming  waters  of  the 
wild  mountain  stream,  he  said  but  little  of  ad- 
monition to  his  companion ;  with  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  flame  and  smoke  and  the  dangerous 
ruffian  his  martial  spirit  had  cooled ;  the  last 
words  of  the  outlaw,  the  highest  praise  Rick 
Pearson  could  accord  to  the  highest  qualities 
Rick  Pearson  could  imagine  —  he  had  grit 
enough  to  belong  to  the  gang  —  had  smitten  a 
tender  conscience.  He,  at  his  age,  using  none 
of  the  means  rightfully  at  his  command,  the 
gentle  suasion  of  religion,  must  needs  rush  be- 
tween armed  men,  wrench  their  weapons  from 
their  hands,  threatening  with  such  violence  that 
an  outlaw  and  desperado,  recognizing  a  parallel 
of  his  own  belligerent  and  lawless  spirit,  should 
say  that  he  ought  to  belong  to  the  gang  I  And 
the  heaviest  scourge  of  the  sin-laden  conscience 
was  the  perception  that,  so  far  as  the  unsubdued 
old  Adam  went,  he  ought  indeed. 

He  was  not  so  tortured,  though,  that  he  did 
not  think  of  others.  He  paused  on  reaching 


246  IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

the  summit  of  the  ascent,  and  looked  back  at 
the  little  house  nestling  in  the  ravine,  the  lamp- 
light streaming  through  its  open  doors  and  win- 
dows  across  the  path  among  the  laurel  bushes, 
where  Rick's  gang  had  hitched  their  horses. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  old  man,  "  if  they  are 
quiet  and  peaceable  again  ;  can  you  hear  the 
music  and  dancing  ?  " 

"  Not  now,"  said  Kossuth.  Then,  after  a  mo- 
ment, "Now,  I  kin,"  he  added,  as  the  wind 
brought  to  their  ears  the  oft-told  tale  of  the  rab- 
bit's gallopade  in  the  pea-patch.  "  They  're 
a-dancin'  now,  and  all  right  agin." 

As  they  walked  along,  Mr.  Kenyon's  racked 
conscience  might  have  been  in  a  slight  degree 
comforted  had  he  known  that  he  was  in  some 
sort  a  revelation  to  the  impressible  lad  at  his 
side,  that  Kossuth  had  begun  dimly  to  compre- 
hend that  a  Christian  may  be  a  man  of  spirit 
also,  and  that  bravado  does  not  constitute  brav- 
ery. Now  that  the  heat  of  anger  was  over,  the 
young  fellow  was  glad  that  the  fearless  interpo- 
sition of  the  warlike  peace-maker  had  prevented 
any  killing,  "  'kase  ef  the  old  man  hed  n't  hung 
on  ter  my  gun  like  he  done,  I  'd  have  been  a 
murderer  like  he  said,  an'  Rick  would  hev  been 
dead.  An'  the  bay  filly  ain't  sech  a  killin'  mat- 
ter nohow;  ef  it  war  the  roan  three-year-old 
now,  't  would  be  different." 


OVER  ON  THE  T'OTHER  MOUNTING. 


STRETCHING  out  laterally  from  a  long  oblique 
line  of  the  Southern  Alleghanies  are  two  paral- 
lel ranges,  following  the  same  course  through 
several  leagues,  and  separated  by  a  narrow  strip 
of  valley  hardly  half  a  mile  in  width.  As  they 
fare  along  arm  in  arm,  so  to  speak,  sundry  dif- 
ferences between  the  close  companions  are  dis- 
tinctly apparent.  One  is  much  the  higher,  and 
leads  the  way ;  it  strikes  out  all  the  bold  curves 
and  angles  of  the  course,  meekly  attended  by 
the  lesser  ridge ;  its  shadowy  coves  and  sharp 
ravines  are  repeated  in  miniature  as  its  comrade 
falls  into  the  line  of  march  ;  it  seems  to  have 
its  companion  in  charge,  and  to  conduct  it  away 
from  the  majestic  procession  of  mountains  that 
traverses  the  State. 

But,  despite  its  more  imposing  appearance, 
all  the  tangible  advantages  are  possessed  by  its 
humble  neighbor.  When  Old  Rocky-Top,  as 
the  lower  range  is  called,  is  fresh  and  green 
with  the  tender  verdure  of  spring,  the  snow  still 


248          IN   THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

lies  on  the  summit  of  the  T'other  Mounting, 
and  drifts  deep  into  treacherous  rifts  and  chasms, 
and  muffles  the  voice  of  the  singing  pines  ;  and 
all  the  crags  are  hung  with  gigantic  glittering 
icicles,  and  the  woods  are  gloomy  and  bleak. 
When  the  sun  shines  bright  on  Old  Rocky-Top, 
clouds  often  hover  about  the  loftier  mountain, 
and  storms  brew  in  that  higher  atmosphere  ;  the 
all-pervading  winter  winds  surge  wildly  among 
the  groaning  forests,  and  wrench  the  limbs  from 
the  trees,  and  dash  huge  fragments  of  cliffs  down 
deep  gorges,  and  spend  their  fury  before  they 
reach  the  sheltered  lower  spur.  When  the 
kindly  shades  of  evening  slip  softly  down  on 
drowsy  Rocky-Top,  and  the  work  is  laid  by  in 
the  rough  little  houses,  and  the  simple  home- 
folks  draw  around  the  hearth,  day  still  lingers 
in  a  weird,  paralytic  life  among  the  tree-tops 
of  the  T'other  Mounting  ;  and  the  only  rem- 
nant of  the  world  visible  is  that  stark  black 
line  of  its  summit,  stiff  and  hard  against  the 
faint  green  and  saffron  tints  of  the  sky.  Be- 
fore the  birds  are  well  awake  on  Old  Rocky- 
Top,  and  while  the  shadows  are  still  thick,  the 
T'other  Mounting  has  been  called  up  to  a  new 
day.  Lonely  dawns  these :  the  pale  gleam 
strikes  along  the  October  woods,  bringing  first 
into  uncertain  twilight  the  dead  yellow  and  red 
of  the  foliage,  presently  heightened  into  royal 


OVER  ON  THE   T OTHER  MOUNTING.       249 

gold  and  crimson  by  the  first  ray  of  sunshine ; 
it  rouses  the  timid  wild-fowl ;  it  drives  home 
the  plundering  fox;  it  meets,  perhaps,  some 
lumbering  bear  or  skulking  mountain  wolf  ;  it 
flecks  with  light  and  shade  the  deer,  all  gray 
and  antlered ;  it  falls  upon  no  human  habitation, 
for  the  few  settlers  of  the  region  have  a  persist- 
ent predilection  for  Old  Rocky-Top.  Somehow, 
the  T'other  Mounting  is  vaguely  in  ill  repute 
among  its  neighbors,  —  it  has  a  bad  name. 

"  It 's  the  onluckiest  place  enny  whar  nigh 
about,"  said  Nathan  White,  as  he  sat  one  after- 
noon upon  the  porch  of  his  log-cabin,  on  the 
summit  of  Old  Rocky-Top,  and  gazed  up  at  the 
heights  of  the  T'other  Mounting  across  the  nar- 
row valley.  "  I  hev  hearn  tell  all  my  days  ez 
how,  ef  ye  go  up  thar  on  the  T'other  Mounting, 
suthin'  will  happen  ter  ye  afore  ye  kin  git  away. 
An'  I  knows  myself  ez  how  —  't  war  ten  year 
ago  an'  better  —  I  went  up  thar,  one  Jan'ry 
day,  a-lookin'  fur  my  cow,  ez  bed  strayed  off 
through  not  hevin'  enny  calf  ter  our  house  ;  an' 
I  fund  the  cow,  but  jes'  tuk  an'  slipped  on  a  icy 
rock,  an'  bruk  my  ankle-bone.  'T  war  sech  a 
job  a-gittin'  off  'n  that  thar  T'other  Mounting 
an'  back  over  hyar,  it  hev  1'arned  me  ter  stay 
away  from  thar." 

"  Thar  war  a  man,"  piped  out  a  shrill,  qua- 
vering voice  from  within  the  door,  —  the  voice 


250         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

of  Nathan  White's  father,  the  oldest  inhabitant 
of  Rocky -Top,  —  "  thar  war  a  man  hyar,  nigh 
on  ter  fifty  year  ago,  —  he  war  mightily  gin  ter 
thievin'  horses ;  an'  one  time,  while  he  war  a- 
runnin'  away  with  Pete  Dilks's  dapple-gray 
mare,  —  they  called  her  Luce,  five  year  old  she 
war,  —  Pete,  he  war  a-ridin'  a-hint  him  on  his 
old  sorrel  mare,  —  her  name  't  war  Jane,  an'  — 
the  Jeemes  boys,  they  war  a-ridin'  arter  the 
horse-thief  too.  Thar,  now  !  I  clar  forgits  what 
horses  them  Jeemes  boys  war  a-ridin'  of."  He 
paused  for  an  instant  in  anxious  reflection. 
"  Waal,  sir  !  it  do  beat  all  that  I  can't  remem- 
ber them  Jeemes  boys'  horses  !  Anyways,  they 
got  ter  that  thar  tricky  ford  through  Wild- 
Duck  River,  thar  on  the  side  o'  the  T'other 
Mounting,  an'  the  horse-thief  war  ahead,  an' 
he  hed  ter  take  it  fust.  An'  that  thar  river,  — 
it  rises  yander  in  them  pines,  nigh  about," 
pointing  with  a  shaking  fore-finger,  —  "  an'  that 
thar  river  jes'  span  him  out  'n  the  saddle  like  a 
top,  an'  he  war  n't  seen  no  more  till  he  hed 
floated  nigh  ter  Colbury,  ez  dead  ez  a  door-nail, 
nor  Pete's  dapple-gray  mare  nuther ;  she  bruk 
her  knees  agin  them  high  stone  banks.  But  he 
war  a  good  swimmer,  an'  he  war  drowned.  He 
war  witched  with  the  place,  ez  sure  ez  ye  air 
born." 

A  long  silence  ensued.     Then  Nathan  White 


OVER  ON  THE  TOT  HER  MOUNTING.       251 

raised  his  pondering  eyes  with  a  look  of  slow 
curiosity.  "  What  did  Tony  Britt  say  he  war 
a-doin'  of,  when  ye  kem  on  him  suddint  in  the 
woods  on  the  T'other  Mounting  ? "  he  asked, 
addressing  his  son,  a  stalwart  youth,  who  was 
sitting  upon  the  step,  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  jeans 
trousers. 

"  He  said  he  war  a-huntin',  but  he  hed  n't 
hed  no  sort  'n  luck.  It  'pears  ter  me  ez  all  the 
game  thar  is  witched  somehow,  an'  ye  can't  git 
no  good  shot  at  nuthin'.  Tony  tole  me  to-day 
that  he  got  up  three  deer,  an'  hed  toler'ble  aim  ; 
an'  he  missed  two,  an'  the  t'other  jes'  trotted  off 
with  a  rifle-ball  in  his  flank,  ez  onconsarned  ez 
ef  he  hed  hit  him  with  an  acorn." 

44 1  hev  always  hearn  ez  everything  that  be- 
longs on  that  thar  T'other  Mounting  air  witched, 
an'  ef  ye  brings  away  so  much  ez  a  leaf,  or  a 
stone,  or  a  stick,  ye  fetches  a  curse  with  it," 
chimed  in  the  old  man,  "  'kase  thar  hev  been 
sech  a  many  folks  killed  on  the  T'other  Mount- 
ing." 

44 1  tole  Tony  Britt  that  thar  word,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  44  an'  'lowed  ter  him  ez  how  he 
hed  tuk  a  mighty  bad  spot  ter  go  a-huntin'. " 

44  What  did  he  say  ? "  demanded  Nathan 
White. 

"  He  say  he  never  knowed  ez   thar  war  mur- 


252         IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

ders  commit  on  T'other  Mounting,  an'  ef  thar 
war  he  'spects  't  war  nuthin'  but  Injuns,  long 
time  ago.  But  he  'lowed  the  place  war  power- 
ful onlucky,  an'  he  believed  the  mounting  war 
witched." 

"  Ef  Tony  Britt's  arter  enny  harm,"  said  the 
octogenarian,  "he  '11  never  come  off  'n  that  thar 
T'other  Mounting.  It  's  a  mighty  place  fur 
bad  folks  ter  make  thar  eend.  Thar  's  that 
thar  horse  thief  I  war  a-tellin'  'bout,  an'  that 
dapple-gray  mare,  —  her  name  't  war  Luce. 
An'  folks  ez  is  a-runnin'  from  the  sheriff  jes' 
takes  ter  the  T'other  Mounting  ez  nateral  ez  ef 
it  war  home  ;  an'  ef  they  don't  git  cotched,  they 
is  never  hearn  on  no  more."  He  paused  im- 
pressively. "  The  rocks  falls  on  'em,  an'  kills 
'em  ;  an'  I  '11-  tell  ye  jes'  how  I  knows,"  he  re- 
sumed, oracularly.  "  'T  war  sixty  year  ago, 
nigh  about,  an'  me  an'  them  Jeemes  boys  war 
a-burnin'  of  lime  tergether  over  on  the  T'other 
Mounting.  We  hed  a  lime-kiln  over  thar,  jes' 
under  Piney  Notch,  an'  never  hed  no  luck,  but 
jes'  stuck  ter  it  like  fools,  till  Hiram  Jeemes  got 
one  of  his  eyes  put  out.  So  we  quit  burnin'  of 
lime  on  the  T'other  Mounting,  'count  of  the 
place  bein'  witched,  an'  kem  over  hyar  ter  Old 
Rocky-Top,  an'  got  along  toler'ble  well,  cornsid- 
erin'.  But  one  day,  whilst  we  war  a-workin' 
on  the  T'other  Mounting,  what  d'  ye  think  T 


OVER  ON  THE   T'OTHER  MOUNTING.        253 

fund  in  the  rock  ?  The  print  of  a  bare  foot 
in  the  solid  stone,  ez  plain  an'  ez  nateral  ez  ef 
the  track  hed  been  lef  in  the  clay  yestiddy. 
Waal,  I  knowed  it  war  the  track  o'  Jeremiah 
Stubbs,  what  shot  his  step-brother,  an'  gin  the 
sheriff  the  slip,  an'  war  las'  seen  on  the  T'other 
Mounting,  'kase  his  old  shoe  jes'  fit  the  track, 
fur  we  tried  it.  An'  a  good  while  arterward  I 
fund  on  that  same  T'other  Mounting  —  in  the 
solid  stone,  mind  ye  —  a  fish,  what  he  had  done 
br'iled  fur  supper,  jes'  turned  ter  a  stone." 

"  So  thar's  the  Bible  made  true,"  said  an  el- 
derly woman,  who  had  come  to  the  door  to  hear 
this  reminiscence,  and  stood  mechanically  stir- 
ring a  hoe-cake  batter  in  a  shallow  wooden 
bowl.  "  Ax  fur  a  fish,  an'  ye  '11  git  a  stone." 

The  secret  history  of  the  hills  among  which 
they  lived  was  indeed  as  a  sealed  book  to  these 
simple  mountaineers. 

"  The  las'  time  I  war  ter  Colbury,"  said  Na- 
than White,  "  I  hearn  the  sheriff  a-talkin'  'bout 
how  them  evil-doers  an'  sech  runs  fur  the  T'other 
Mounting  fust  thing;  though  he  'lowed  ez  it 
war  powerful  foxy  in  'em  ter  try  ter  hide  thar, 
'kase  he  said,  ef  they  wunst  reaches  it,  he 
mought  ez  well  look  fur  a  needle  in  a  hay-stack. 
He  'lowed  ef  he  hed  a  posse  a  thousand  men 
strong  he  could  n't  git  'em  out." 

"  He  can't  find  'em,  'kase  the  rocks  falls  on 


254  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

'em,  or  swallers  'em  in,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Ef 
Tony  Britt  is  up  ter  mischief  he  '11  never  come 
back  no  more.  He  '11  git  into  worser  trouble 
than  ever  he  see  afore." 

"  He  hev  done  seen  a  powerful  lot  of  trouble, 
fust  one  way  an'  another,  'thout  foolin'  round 
the  T'other  Mounting,"  said  Nathan  White. 
"  They  tells  me  ez  he  got  hisself  indicted,  I 
believes  they  calls  it,  or  suthin',  down  yander 
ter  the  court  at  Colbury,  —  that  war  year  afore 
las',  —  an'  he  hed  ter  pay  twenty  dollars  fine  ; 
'kase  when  he  war  overseer  of  the  road  he  jes' 
war  constant  in  lettin'  his  friends,  an'  folks  gin- 
erally,  off  'thout  hevin'  'em  fined,  when  they 
did  n't  come  an'  work  on  the  road,  —  though 
that  air  the  way  ez  the  overseers  hev  always 
done,  without  nobody  a-tellin'  on  'em  an'  sech. 
But  them  ez  war  n't  Tony  Britt's  friends  seen 
a  mighty  differ.  He  war  dead  sure  ter  fine 
Caleb  Hoxie  seventy-five  cents,  'cordin'  ter  the 
law,  fur  every  day  that  he  war  summonsed  ter 
work  an'  never  come  ;  'kase  Tony  an'  Caleb  hed 
some  sort  'n  grudge  agin  one  another  'count  of  a 
spavined  horse  what  Caleb  sold  ter  Tony,  makin' 
him  out  to  be  a  sound  critter,  —  though  Caleb 
swears  he  never  knowed  the  horse  war  spavined 
when  he  sold  him  ter  Tony,  no  more  'n  nuthin'. 
Caleb  war  mightily  worked  up  'bout  this  hyar 
finin'  business,  an'  him  an'  Tony  hed  a  tussle 


OVER  ON  THE  T'OTHER  MOUNTING.        255 

'bout  it  every  time  they  kem  tergether.  But 
Caleb  war  always  sure  ter  git  the  worst  of  it, 
'kase  Tony,  though  he  air  toler'ble  spindling  sort 
o'  build,  he  air  somehow  or  other  sorter  stringy 
an'  tough,  an'  makes  a  right  smart  show  in  a 
reg'lar  knock-down  an'  drag-out  fight.  So  Ca- 
leb he  war  beat  every  time,  an'  fined  too.  An' 
he  tried  wunst  ter  shoot  Tony  Britt,  but  he 
missed  his  aim.  An'  when  he  war  a-layin'  off 
how  ter  fix  Tony,  fur  treatin'  him  that  way,  he 
war  a-stoppin',  one  day,  at  Jacob  Green's  black- 
smith's shop,  yander,  a  mile  down  the  valley, 
an'  he  war  a-talkin'  'bout  it  ter  a  passel  o'  folks 
thar.  An'  Lawyer  Rood  from  Colbury  war 
thar,  an'  Jacob  war  a-shoein'  of  his  mare  ;  an' 
he  hearn  the  tale,  an'  axed  Caleb  why  n't  he 
report  Tony  ter  the  court,  an'  git  him  fined  fur 
neglect  of  his  duty,  bein'  overseer  of  the  road. 
An'  Caleb  never  knowed  before  that  it  war  the 
law  that  everybody  what  war  summonsed  an' 
did  n't  come  must  be  fined,  or  the  overseer  must 
be  fined  hisself ;  but  he  knowed  that  Tony  hed 
been  a-lettin'  of  his  friends  off,  an'  folks  giner- 
ally,  an'  he  jes'  'greed  fur  Lawyer  Rood  ter  stir 
up  trouble  fur  Tony.  An'  he  done  it.  An'  the 
court  fined  Tony  twenty  dollars  fur  them  ways 
o'  his'n.  An'  it  kept  him  so  busy  a-scufnin'  ter 
raise  the  twenty  dollars  that  he  never  hed  a 
chance  ter  give  Caleb  Hoxie  more  'n  one  or 


256          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

two  beatin's  the  whole  time  he  war  a-scrapin' 
up  the  money." 

This  story  was  by  no  means  unknown  to  the 
little  circle,  nor  did  its  narrator  labor  under  the 
delusion  that  he  was  telling  a  new  thing.  It 
was  merely  a  verbal  act  of  recollection,  and  an 
attentive  silence  reigned  as  he  related  the  fa- 
miliar facts.  To  people  who  live  in  lonely 
regions  this  habit  of  retrospection  (especially 
noticeable  in  them)  and  an  enduring  interest 
in  the  past  may  be  something  of  a  compensa- 
tion for  the  scanty  happenings  of  the  present. 
When  the  recital  was  concluded,  the  hush  for  a 
time  was  unbroken,  save  by  the  rush  of  the 
winds,  bringing  upon  their  breath  the  fragrant 
woodland  odors  of  balsams  and  pungent  herbs, 
and  a  fresh  and  exhilarating  suggestion  of  sweep- 
ing over  a  volume  of  falling  water.  They 
stirred  the  fringed  shadow  of  a  great  pine  that 
stood,  like  a  sentinel,  before  Nathan  White's 
door  and  threw  its  colorless  simulacrum,  a  boast- 
ful lie  twice  its  size,  far  down  the  sunset  road. 
Now  and  then  the  faint  clangor  of  a  cow-bell 
came  from  out  the  tangled  woods  about  the  lit- 
tle hut,  and  the  low  of  homeward-bound  cattle 
sounded  upon  the  air,  mellowed  and  softened 
by  the  distance.  The  haze  that  rested  above 
the  long,  narrow  valley  was  hardly  visible,  save 
in  the  illusive  beauty  with  which  it  invested 


OVER  ON  THE  T OTHER  MOUNTING.        257 

the  scene,  —  the  tender  azure  of  the  far-away 
ranges;  the  exquisite  tones  of  the  gray  and 
purple  shadows  that  hovered  about  the  darken- 
ing coves  and  along  the  deep  lines  marking  the 
gorges ;  the  burnished  brilliance  of  the  sun- 
light, which,  despite  its  splendor,  seemed  lonely 
enough,  lying  motionless  upon  the  lonely  land- 
scape arid  on  the  still  figures  clustered  about 
the  porch.  Their  eyes  were  turned  toward  the 
opposite  steeps,  gorgeous  with  scarlet  oak  and 
sumac,  all  in  autumnal  array,  and  their  thoughts 
were  busy  with  the  hunter  on  the  T'other 
Mounting  and  vague  speculations  concerning 
his  evil  intent. 

"  It  'pears  ter  me  powerful  strange  ez  Tony 
goes  a-foolin'  round  that  thar  T'other  Mount- 
ing, cornsiderin'  what  happened  yander  in  its 
shadow,"  said  the  woman,  coming  again  to  the 
door,  and  leaning  idly  against  the  frame ;  the 
bread  was  baking  over  the  coals.  "  That  thar 
wife  o'  his'n,  afore  she  died,  war  always  frettin' 
'kase  way  down  thar  on  the  backbone,  whar  her 
house  war,  the  shadow  o'  the  T'other  Mounting 
laid  on  it  fur  an  hour  an'  better  every  day  of 
the  worl'.  She  'towed  ez  it  always  put  her  in 
mind  o'  the  shadow  o'  death.  An'  I  thought 
'bout  that  thar  sayin'  o'  hern  the  day  when  I 
see  her  a-lyin'  stiff  an'  cold  on  the  bed,  an'  the 
shadow  of  the  T'other  Mounting  drapping  in  at 

17 


258          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

the  open  door,  an'  a-creepin'  an'  a-creepin'  over 
her  face.  An'  I  war  plumb  glad  when  they 
got  that  woman  under  ground,  whar,  ef  the 
sunshine  can't  git  ter  her,  neither  kin  the  shad- 
ow. Ef  ever  thar  war  a  murdered  woman,  she 
war  one.  Arter  all  that  hed  .come  an'  gone 
with  Caleb  Hoxie,  fur  Tony  Britt  ter  go  arter 
him,  'kase  he  war  a  yerb-doctor,  ter  git  him  ter 
physic  his  wife,  who  war  nigh  about  dead  with 
the  lung  fever,  an'  gin  up  by  old  Dr.  Marsh ! 
—  it  looks  ter  me  like  he  war  plumb  crazy, — 
though  him  an'  Caleb  hed  sorter  made  friends 
'bout  the  spavined  horse  an'  sech  afore  then. 
Jes'  ez  soon  ez  she  drunk  the  stuff  that  Caleb 
fixed  fur  her  she  laid  her  head  back  an'  shet 
her  eyes,  an'  never  opened  'em  no  more  in  this 
worl'.  She  war  a  murdered  woman,  an'  Caleb 
Hoxie  done  it  through  the  yerbs  he  fixed  fur 
her." 

A  subtile  amethystine  mist  had  gradually 
overlaid  the  slopes  of  the  T'other  Mounting, 
mellowing  the  brilliant  tints  of  the  variegated 
foliage  to  a  delicious  hazy  sheen  of  mosaics ;  but 
about  the  base  the  air  seemed  dun-colored, 
though  transparent ;  seen  through  it,  even  the 
red  of  the  crowded  trees  was  but  a  sombre  sort 
of  magnificence,  and  the  great  masses  of  gray 
rocks,  jutting  out  among  them  here  and  there, 
wore  a  darkly  frowning  aspect.  Along  the  sum- 


OVER  ON  THE   T'OTHER  MOUNTING.        259 

rnit  there  was  a  blaze  of  scarlet  and  gold  in  the 
full  glory  of  the  sunshine ;  the  topmost  cliffs 
caught  its  rays,  and  gave  them  back  in  unex- 
pected gleams  of  green  or  grayish-yellow,  as  of 
mosses,  or  vines,  or  huckleberry  bushes,  nour- 
ished in  the  heart  of  the  deep  fissures. 

"  Waal,"  said  Nathan  White,  "  I  never  did 
believe  ez  Caleb  gin  her  ennythink  ter  hurt,  — 
though  I  knows  thar  is  them  ez  does.  Caleb  is 
the  bes'  yerb-doctor  I  ever  see.  The  rheumatiz 
would  nigh  on  ter  hev  killed  me,  ef  it  war  n't 
fur  him,  that  spell  I  hed  las'  winter.  An'  Dr. 
Marsh,  what  they  hed  up  afore  the  gran'  jury, 
swore  that  the  yerbs  what  Caleb  gin  her  war 
nuthin'  ter  hurt ;  he  said,  though,  they  could  n't 
holp  nor  hender.  An'  but  fur  Dr.  Marsh  they 
would  hev  jailed  Caleb  ter  stand  his  trial,  like 
Tony  wanted  'em  ter  do.  But  Dr.  Marsh  said 
she  died  with  the  consumption,  jes'  the  same, 
an'  Caleb's  yerbs  war  wholesome,  though  they 
war  n't  no  'count  at  all." 

"  I  knows  I  ain't  a-goin'  never  ter  tech  nuthin' 
he  fixes  fur  me  no  more,"  said  his  wife,  "  an'  I  '11 
be  bound  nobody  else  in  these  hyar  mountings 
will,  nuther." 

"  Waal,"  drawled  her  son,  "  I  knows  fur  true 
ez  he  air  tendin'  now  on  old  Gideon  Croft,  what 
lives  over  yander  in  the  valley  on  the  t'other 
side  of  the  T'other  Mounting,  an'  is  down  with 


260         IN   THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

the  fever.  He  went  over  thar  yestiddy  evening, 
late  ;  I  met  him  when  he  war  goin',  an'  he  tole 
me." 

"  He  hed  better  look  out  how  he  comes  across 
Tony  Britt,"  said  Nathan  White  ;  "  fur  I  hearn, 
the  las'  time  I  war  ter  the  Settlemint,  how  Tony 
hev  swore  ter  kill  him  the  nex'  time  he  see  him, 
fur  a-givin'  of  pizenous  yerbs  ter  his  wife.  Tony 
air  mightily  outdone  'kase  the  gran'  jury  let  him 
off.  Caleb  hed  better  be  sorter  keerful  how  he 
goes  a-foohV  round  these  hyar  dark  woods." 

The  sun  had  sunk,  and  the  night,  long  held 
in  abeyance,  was  coming  fast.  The  glooms  gath- 
ered in  the  valley;  a  soft  gray  shadow  hung 
over  the  landscape,  making  familiar  things 
strange.  The  T'other  Mounting  was  all  a 
dusky,  sad  purple  under  the  faintly  pulsating 
stars,  save  that  high  along  the  horizontal  line 
of  its  summit  gleamed  the  strange  red  radiance 
of  the  dead  and  gone  sunset.  The  outline  of  the 
foliage  was  clearly  drawn  against  the  pure  lapis 
lazuli  tint  of  the  sky  behind  it ;  here  and  there 
the  uncanny  light  streamed  through  the  bare 
limbs  of  an  early  leafless  tree,  which  looked  in 
the  distance  like  some  bony  hand  beckoning,  or 
warning,  or  raised  in  horror. 

"  Any  think  mought  happen  thar  !  "  said  the 
woman,  as  she  stood  on  night-wrapped  Rocky- 
Top  and  gazed  up  at  the  alien  light,  so  red  in 


OVER  ON  THE  T'OTHER  MOUNTING.        261 

the  midst  of  the  dark  landscape.  When  she 
turned  back  to  the  door  of  the  little  hut,  the 
meagre  comforts  within  seemed  almost  luxury, 
in  their  cordial  contrast  to  the  desolate,  dreary 
mountain  yonder  and  the  thought  of  the  forlorn, 
wandering  hunter.  A  genial  glow  from  the 
hearth  diffused  itself  over  the  puncheon  floor  ; 
the  savory  odor  of  broiling  venison  filled  the 
room  as  a  tall,  slim  girl  knelt  before  the  fire  and 
placed  the  meat  upon  the  gridiron,  her  pale 
cheeks  flushing  with  the  heat ;  there  was  a 
happy  suggestion  of  peace  and  unity  when  the 
four  generations  trooped  in  to  their  supper, 
grandfather  on  his  grandson's  arm,  and  a  sedate 
two-year-old  bringing  up  the  rear.  Nathan 
White's  wife  paused  behind  the  others  to  bar 
the  door,  and  once  more,  as  she  looked  up  at 
the  T'other  Mounting,  the  thought  of  the  lonely 
wanderer  smote  her  heart.  The  red  sunset  light 
had  died  out  at  last,  but  a  golden  aureola  her- 
alded the  moon-rise,  and  a  gleaming  thread 
edged  the  masses  of  foliage  ;  there  was  no  faint 
suggestion  now  of  mist  in  the  valley,  and  myr- 
iads of  stars  filled  a  cloudless  sky.  "  He  hev 
done  gone  home  by  this  time,"  she  said  to  her 
daughter-in-law,  as  she  closed  the  door,  "  an'  ef 
he  ain't,  he  '11  hev  a  moon  ter  light  him." 

44  Air  ye  a-studyin'  'bout  Tony  Britt  yit  ?  " 
asked  Nathan  White.    4t  He  hev  done  gone  home 


262         IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS, 

a  good  hour  by  sun,  I  '11  be  bound.  Jes'  ketch 
Tony  Britt  a-huntin'  till  sundown,  will  ye  !  He 
air  a  mighty  pore  hand  ter  work.  'Stonishes 
me  ter  hear  he  air  even  a-huntin'  on  the  T'other 
Mounting." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  's  up  ter  enny  harm,"  said 
the  woman  ;  "  he  hev  jes'  tuk  ter  the  woods 
with  grief." 

"  Tears  ter  me,"  said  the  daughter-in-law, 
rising  from  her  kneeling  posture  before  the  fire, 
and  glancing  reproachfully  at  her  husband,  — 
"  'pears  ter  me  ez  ye  mought  hev  brought  him 
hyar  ter  eat  his  supper  along  of  we-uns,  stiddier 
a-leavin'  him  a-grievin'  over  his  dead  wife  in 
them  witched  woods  on  the  T'other  Mounting." 

The  young  fellow  looked  a  trifle  abashed  at 
this  suggestion.  "I  never  wunst  thought  of 
it,"  he  said.  "  Tony  never  stopped  ter  talk 
more  'n  a  minit,  nohow." 

The  evening  wore  away  ;  the  octogenarian 
and  the  sedate  two-year-old  fell  asleep  in  their 
chairs  shortly  after  supper ;  Nathan  White  and 
his  son  smoked  their  cob-pipes,  and  talked  fit- 
fully of  the  few  incidents  of  the  day ;  the  women 
sat  in  the  firelight  with  their  knitting,  silent 
and  absorbed,  except  that  now  and  then  the  el- 
der, breaking  from  her  reverie,  declared,  "  I 
can't  git  Tony  Britt  out  'n  my  head  nohow  ID 
the  worl'. 


OVER  ON  THE   T'OTHER  MOUNTING.        263 

The  moon  had  come  grandly  up  over  the 
T'other  Mounting,  casting  long  silver  lights  and 
deep  black  shadows  through  all  the  tangled  re- 
cesses and  yawning  chasms  of  the  woods  and 
rocks.  In  the  vast  wilderness  the  bright  rays 
met  only  one  human  creature,  the  belated  hun- 
ter making  his  way  homeward  through  the 
dense  forest  with  an  experienced  woodman's 
craft.  For  no  evil  intent  had  brought  Tony 
Britt  to  the  T'other  Mounting ;  he  had  spent 
the  day  in  hunting,  urged  by  that  strong  neces- 
sity without  which  the  mountaineer  seldom 
makes  any  exertion.  Dr.  Marsh's  unavailing 
skill  had  cost  him  dear  ;  his  only  cow  was  sold 
to  make  up  the  twenty  dollars  fine  which  his  re- 
venge on  Caleb  Hoxie  had  entailed  upon  him ; 
without  even  so  much  as  a  spavined  horse  til- 
lage was  impossible,  and  the  bounteous  harvest 
left  him  empty-handed,  for  he  had  no  crops  to 
gather.  The  hardships  of  extreme  poverty  had 
reinforced  the  sorrows  that  came  upon  him  in 
battalions,  and  had  driven  him  far  through  long 
aisles  of  the  woods,  where  the  night  fell  upon 
him  unaware.  The  foliage  was  all  embossed 
with  exquisite  silver  designs  that  seemed  to 
stand  out  some  little  distance  from  the  dark 
masses  of  leaves  ;  now  and  then  there  came  to 
his  eyes  that  emerald  gleam  never  seen  upon 
verdure  in  the  day-time,  —  only  shown  by  some 


264          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

artificial  light,  or  the  moon's  sweet  uncertainty. 
The  wind  was  strong  and  fresh,  but  not  cold ; 
here  and  there  was  a  glimmer  of  dew.  Once, 
and  once  only,  he  thought  of  the  wild  traditions 
which  peopled  the  T'other  Mounting  with  evil 
spirits.  He  paused  with  a  sudden  chill ;  he 
glanced  nervously  over  his  shoulder  down  the 
illimitable  avenues  of  the  lonely  woods.  The 
grape-vines,  hanging  in  festoons  from  tree  to 
tree,  were  slowly  swinging  back  and  forth, 
stirred  by  the  wind.  There  was  a  dizzy  dance 
of  shadows  whirling  on  every  open  space  where 
the  light  lay  on  the  ground.  The  roar  and  fret 
of  Wild-Duck  River,  hidden  there  somewhere 
in  the  pines,  came  on  the  breeze  like  a  strange, 
weird,  fitful  voice,  crying  out  amid  the  haunted 
solitudes  of  the  T'other  Mounting.  He  turned 
abruptly,  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and  pur- 
sued his  way  through  the  trackless  desert  in  the 
direction  of  his  home.  He  had  been  absorbed 
in  his  quest  and  his  gloomy  thoughts,  and  did 
not  realize  the  distance  he  had  traversed  until 
it  lay  before  him  to  be  retraced  ;  but  his  super- 
stitious terror  urged  him  to  renewed  exertions. 
"  Ef  ever  I  gits  off  'n  this  hyar  witched  moun- 
ting," he  said  to  himself,  as  he  tore  away  the 
vines  and  brambles  that  beset  his  course,  "  1 11 
never  come  back  agin  while  I  lives."  He  grew 
calmer  when  he  paused  on  a  huge  projecting 


OVER   ON   THE   T OTHER  MOUNTING.       265 

crag,  and  looked  across  the  narrow  valley  at  the 
great  black  mass  opposite,  which  he  knew  was 
Old  Rocky-Top ;  its  very  presence  gave  him  a 
sense  of  companionship  and  blunted  his  fear, 
and  he  sat  down  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes,  gaz- 
ing at  the  outline  of  the  range  he  knew  so  well, 
so  unfamiliar  from  a  new  stand-point.  How  low 
it  seemed  from  the  heights  of  the  T'other  Moun- 
ting !  Could  that  faint  gleam  be  the  light  in 
Nathan  White's  house  ?  Tony  Britt  glanced 
further  down  the  indistinct  slope,  where  he 
knew  his  own  desolate,  deserted  hut  was 
crouched.  "  Jes'  whar  the  shadow  o'  the  T'other 
Mounting  can  reach  it,"  he  thought,  with  a  new 
infusion  of  bitterness.  He  averted  his  eyes  ;  he 
would  look  no  longer  ;  he  threw  himself  at  full 
length  among  the  ragged  clumps  of  grass  and 
fragments  of  rock,  and  turned  his  face  to  the 
stars.  It  all  came  back  to  him  then.  Some- 
times, in  his  sordid  cares  and  struggles  for  his 
scanty  existence,  his  past  troubles  were  dwarfed 
by  the  present.  But  here  on  the  lonely  cliff, 
with  the  infinite  spaces  above  him  and  the 
boundless  forest  below,  he  felt  anew  his  isola- 
tion. No  light  on  earth  save  the  far  gleam  from 
another  man's  home,  and  in  heaven  only  the 
drowning  face  of  the  moon,  drifting  slowly 
through  the  blue  floods  of  the  skies.  He  was 
only  twenty-five ;  he  had  youth  and  health  and 


266          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

strength,  but  he  felt  that  he  had  lived  his  life  ; 
it  seemed  long,  marked  as  it  was  by  cares  and 
privation  and  persistent  failure.  Little  as  he 
knew  of  life,  he  knew  how  hard  his  had  been, 
even  meted  by  those  of  the  poverty-stricken 
wretches  among  whom  his  lot  was  cast.  "  An' 
sech  luck  ! "  he  said,  as  his  sad  eyes  followed 
the  drifting  dead  face  of  the  moon.  "  Along  o' 
that  thar  step-mother  o'  mine  till  I  war  growed  ; 
an'  then  when  I  war  married,  an*  we  hed  got 
the  house  put  up,  an'  war  beginnin'  ter  git  along 
like  other  folks  kin,  an'  Car'line's  mother  gin 
her  that  thar  calf  what  growed  ter  a  cow,  an' 
through  pinchin'  an'  savin'  we  made  out  ter  buy 
that  thar  horse  from  Caleb  Hoxie,  jes'  ez  we 
war  a-startin'  ter  work  a  crap  he  lays  down  an' 
dies ;  an'  that  cussed  twenty  dollars  ez  I  hed 
ter  pay  ter  the  court ;  an'  Car 'line  jes'  a-gittin' 
sick,  an'  a-wastin'  an'  a-wastin'  away,  till  I,  like 
a  fool,  brung  Caleb  thar,  an'  he  pizens  her  with 
his  yerbs —  God  A'mighty  !  ef  I  could  jes'  lay 
my  hands  wunst  on  that  scoundrel  I  would  n't 
leave  a  mite  of  him,  ef  he  war  pertected  by  a 
hundred  lyin',  thievin'  gran'  juries  !  But  he 
can't  stay  a-hidin'  forevermo'.  He 's  got  ter 
'count  ter  me,  ef  he  ain't  ter  the  law ;  an'  he  '11 
see  a  mighty  differ  atwixt  us.  I  swear  he  '11 
never  draw  another  breath  !  " 

He  rose  with  a  set,  stern  face,  and  struck  a 


OVER  ON   THE  T OTHER  MOUNTING.        267 

huge  bowlder  beside  him  with  his  hard  clenched 
hand  as  he  spoke.  He  had  not  even  an  igno- 
rant idea  of  an  impressive  dramatic  pose ;  but 
if  the  great  gaunt  cliff  had  been  the  stage  of  a 
theatre  his  attitude  and  manner  at  that  instant 
would  have  won  him  applause.  He  was  all 
alone  with  his  poverty  and  his  anguished  memo- 
ries, as  men  with  such  burdens  are  apt  to  be. 

The  bowlder  on  which,  in  his  rude  fashion, 
he  had  registered  his  oath  was  harder  than  his 
hard  hand,  and  the  vehemence  of  the  blow 
brought  blood ;  but  he  had  scarcely  time  to 
think  of  it.  His  absorbed  reverie  was  broken 
by  a  rustling  other  than  that  of  the  eddying 
wind.  He  raised  his  head  and  looked  about  him, 
half  expecting  to  see  the  antlers  of  a  deer. 
Then  there  came  to  his  ears  the  echo  of  the 
tread  of  man.  His  eyes  mechanically  followed 
the  sound.  Forty  feet  down  the  face  of  the 
crag  a  broad  ledge  jutted  out,  and  upon  it  ran 
a  narrow  path,  made  by  stray  cattle,  or  the  feet 
of  their  searching  owners ;  it  was  visible  from 
the  summit  for  a  distance  of  a  hundred  yards 
or  so,  and  the  white  glamour  of  the  moonbeams 
fell  full  upon  it.  Before  a  speculation  had  sug- 
gested itself,  a  man  walked  slowly  into  view 
along  the  path,  and  with  starting  eyes  the  hun- 
ter recognized  his  dearest  foe.  Britt's  hand  lay 
upon  the  bowlder ;  his  oath  was  in  his  mind ; 


268          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

his  unconscious  enemy  had  come  within  his 
power.  Swifter  than  a  flash  the  temptation 
was  presented.  He  remembered  the  warnings 
of  his  lawyer  at  Colbury  last  week,  when  the 
grand  jury  had  failed  to  find  a  true  bill  against 
Caleb  Hoxie,  —  that  he  was  an  innocent  man, 
and  must  go  unscathed,  that  any  revenge  for 
fancied  wrongs  would  be  dearly  rued;  he  re- 
membered, too,  the  mountain  traditions  of  the 
falling  rocks  burying  evil-doers  in  the  heart  of 
the  hills.  Here  was  his  opportunity.  He  would 
have  a  life  for  a  life,  and  there  would  be  one 
more  legend  of  the  very  stones  conspiring  to 
punish  malefactors  escaped  from  men  added  to 
the  terrible  "  sayin's  "  of  the  T'other  Moun- 
ting. A  strong  belief  in  the  supernatural  in- 
fluences of  the  place  was  rife  within  him ;  he 
knew  nothing  of  Gideon  Croft's  fever  and  the 
errand  that  had  brought  the  herb-doctor  through 
the  "  witched  mounting ;  "  had  he  not  been 
transported  thither  by  some  invisible  agency, 
that  the  rocks  might  fall  upon  him  and  crush 
him? 

The  temptation  and  the  resolve  were  simul- 
taneous. With  his  hand  upon  the  bowlder,  his 
hot  heart  beating  fast,  his  distended  eyes  burn- 
ing upon  the  approaching  figure,  he^  waited  for 
the  moment  to  come.  There  lay  the  long,  low, 
black  mountain  opposite,  with  only  the  moon- 


OVER   ON  THE   T OTHER  MOUNTING.        269 

beams  upon  it,  for  the  lights  in  Nathan  White's 
house  were  extinguished ;  there  was  the  deep, 
dark  gulf  of  the  valley  ;  there,  forty  feet  below 
him,  was  the  narrow,  moon-flooded  path  on  the 
ledge,  and  the  man  advancing  carelessly.  The 
bowlder  fell  with  a  frightful  crash,  the  echoes 
rang  with  a  scream  of  terror,  and  the  two  men 
—  one  fleeing  from  the  dreadful  danger  he  had 
barely  escaped,  the  other  from  the  hideous  deed 
he  thought  he  had  done  —  ran  wildly  in  oppo- 
site directions  through  the  tangled  autumnal 
woods. 

Was  every  leaf  of  the  forest  endowed  with  a 
woful  voice,  that  the  echo  of  that  shriek  might 
never  die  from  Tony  Britt's  ears?  Did  the 
storied,  retributive  rocks  still  vibrate  with  this 
new  victim's  frenzied  cry  ?  And  what  was  this 
horror  in  his  heart !  Now,  —  so  late,  —  was 
coming  a  terrible  conviction  of  his  enemy's  in- 
nocence, and  with  it  a  fathomless  remorse. 

All  through  the  interminable  night  he  fled 
frantically  along  the  mountain's  summit, 
scarcely  knowing  whither,  and  caring  for  noth- 
ing except  to  multiply  the  miles  between  him 
and  the  frightful  object  that  he  believed  lay  un- 
der the  bowlder  which  he  had  dashed  down  the 
precipice.  The  moon  sank  beneath  the  horizon ; 
the  fantastic  shadows  were  merged  in  the  dark- 
est hour  of  the  night ;  the  winds  died,  and  there 


270  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

was  no  voice  in  all  the  woods,  save  the  wail  oi 
Wild-Duck  River  and  the  forever-resounding 
screams  in  the  flying  wretch's  ears.  Sometimes 
he  answered  them  in  a  wild,  hoarse,  inarticulate 
cry  ;  sometimes  he  flung  his  hands  above  his 
head  and  wrung  them  in  his  agony ;  never  once 
did  he  pause  in  his  flight.  Panting,  breathless, 
exhausted,  he  eagerly  sped  through  the  dark- 
ness ;  tearing  his  face  upon  the  brambles  ;  plung- 
ing now  and  then  into  gullies  and  unseen  quag- 
mires ;  sometimes  falling  heavily,  but  recovering 
himself  in  an  instant,  and  once  more  struggling 
on ;  striving  to  elude  the  pursuing  voices,  and 
to  distance  forever  his  conscience  and  his  mem- 
ory. 

And  then  came  that  terrible  early  daylight 
that  was  wont  to  dawn  upon  the  T'other  Mount- 
ing when  all  the  world  besides  was  lost  in  slum- 
ber ;  the  wan,  melancholy  light  showed  dimly 
the  solemn  trees  and  dense  undergrowth  ;  the 
precarious  pitfalls  about  his  path ;  the  long  deep 
gorges ;  the  great  crags  and  chasms  ;  the  cas- 
cades, steely  gray,  and  white ;  the  huge  mass,  all 
hung  about  with  shadows,  which  he  knew  was 
Old  Rocky-Top,  rising  from  the  impenetrably 
dark  valley  below.  It  seemed  wonderful  to  him, 
somehow,  that  a  new  day  should  break  at  all. 
If,  in  a  revulsion  of  nature,  that  utter  blackness 
had  continued  forever  and  ever  it  would  not 


OVER   ON  THE   T'OTHER   MOUNTING.        271 

have  been  strange,  after  what  had  happened. 
He  could  have  borne  it  better  than  the  sight  of 
the  familiar  world  gradually  growing  into  day, 
all  unconscious  of  his  secret.  He  had  begun 
the  descent  of  the  T'other  Mounting,  and  he 
seemed  to  carry  that  pale  dawn  with  him ;  day 
was  breaking  when  he  reached  the  foot  of  Old 
Rocky-Top,  and  as  he  climbed  up  to  his  own  de- 
serted, empty  little  shanty,  it  too  stood  plainly 
defined  in  the  morning  light.  He  dragged  him- 
self to  the  door,  and  impelled  by  some  morbid 
fascination  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
T'other  Mounting.  There  it  was,  unchanged, 
with  the  golden  largess  of  a  gracious  season  blaz- 
ing upon  every  autumnal  leaf.  He  shuddered, 
and  went  into  the  fireless,  comfortless  house. 
And  then  he  made  an  appalling  discovery.  As 
he  mechanically  divested  himself  of  his  shot- 
pouch  and  powder-horn  he  was  stricken  by  a 
sudden  consciousness  that  he  did  not  have  his 
gun !  One  doubtful  moment,  and  he  remem- 
bered that  he  had  laid  it  upon  the  crag  when 
he  had  thrown  himself  down  to  rest.  Beyond 
question,  it  was  there  yet.  His  conscience  was 
still  now,  —  his  remorse  had  fled.  It  was  only 
a  matter  of  time  when  his  crime  would  be 
known.  He  recollected  his  meeting  with  young 
White  while  he  was  hunting,  and  then  Britt 
cursed  the  gun  which  he  had  left  on  the  cliff. 


272          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  discovery  of  the  weapon  there  would  be 
strong  evidence  against  him,  taken  in  connection 
with  all  the  other  circumstances.  True,  he 
could  even  yet  go  back  and  recover  it,  but  he 
was  mastered  by  the  fear  of  meeting  some  one 
on  the  unfrequented  road,  or  even  in  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  T'other  Mounting,  and  strengthen- 
ing the  chain  of  evidence  against  him  by  the 
fact  of  being  once  more  seen  in  the  fateful  neigh- 
borhood. He  resolved  that  he  would  wait  un- 
til night-fall,  and  then  he  would  retrace  his  way, 
secure  his  gun,  and  all  might  yet  be  well  with 
him.  As  to  the  bowlder,  —  were  men  never 
before  buried  under  the  falling  rocks  of  the 
T'other  Mounting? 

Without  food,  without  rest,  without  sleep,  his 
limbs  rigid  with  the  strong  tension  of  his  nerves, 
his  eyes  bloodshot,  haggard,  and  eager,  his  brain 
on  fire,  he  sat  through  the  long  morning  hours 
absently  gazing  across  the  narrow  valley  at  the 
solemn,  majestic  mountain  opposite,  and  that 
sinister  jutting  crag  with  the  indistinctly  denned 
ledges  of  its  rugged  surface. 

After  a  time,  the  scene  began  to  grow  dim  ; 
the  sun  was  still  shining,  but  through  a  haze 
becoming  momently  more  dense.  The  brill- 
iantly tinted  foliage  upon  the  T'other  Mount- 
ing was  fading ;  the  cliffs  showed  strangely  dis- 
torted faces  through  the  semi-transparent  blue 


OVER  ON  THE   TOT  HER  MOUNTING.        273 

vapor,  and  presently  they  seemed  to  recede  alto- 
gether; the  valley  disappeared,  and  all  the 
country  was  filled  with  the  smoke  of  distant 
burning  woods.  He  was  gasping  when  he  first 
became  sensible  of  the  smoke-laden  haze,  for  he 
had  seen  nothing  of  the  changing  aspect  of  the 
landscape.  Before  his  vision  was  the  change- 
less picture  of  a  night  of  mingled  moonlight 
and  shadow,  the  ill-defined  black  mass  where 
Old  Rocky-Top  rose  into  the  air,  the  impene- 
trable gloom  of  the  valley,  the  ledge  of  the  crag, 
and  the  unconscious  figure  slowly  coming  within 
the  power  of  his  murderous  hand.  His  eyes 
would  look  on  no  other  scene,  no  other  face,  so 
long  as  he  should  live. 

He  had  a  momentary  sensation  of  stifling, 
and  then  a  great  weight  was  lifted.  For  he 
had  begun  to  doubt  whether  the  unlucky  local- 
ity would  account  satisfactorily  for  the  fall  of 
that  bowlder  and  the  horrible  object  beneath  it ; 
a  more  reasonable  conclusion  might  be  deduced 
from  the  fact  that  he  had  been  seen  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  the  circumstance  of  the  deadly 
feud.  But  what  wonder  would  there  be  if  the 
dry  leaves  on  the  T'other  Mounting  should  be 
ignited  and  the  woods  burned  !  What  explana- 
tions might  not  such  a  catastrophe  suggest !  — 
a  frantic  flight  from  the  flames  toward  the  cliff 
and  an  accidental  fall.  And  so  he  waited 

18 


274          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

throughout  the  long  day,  that  was  hardly  day  at 
all,  but  an  opaque  twilight,  through  which  could 
be  discerned  only  the  stony  path  leading  down 
the  slope  from  his  door,  only  the  blurred  out- 
lines of  the  bushes  close  at  hand,  only  the  great 
gaunt  limbs  of  a  lightning-scathed  tree,  seem- 
ing entirely  severed  from  the  unseen  trunk,  and 
swinging  in  the  air  sixty  feet  above  the  earth. 

Toward  night-fall  the  wind  rose  and  the 
smoke-curtain  lifted,  once  more  revealing  to  the 
settlers  upon  Old  Rocky-Top  the  sombre  T'other 
Mounting,  with  the  belated  evening  light  still 
lurid  upon  the  trees,  —  only  a  strange,  faint  re- 
semblance of  the  sunset  radiance,  rather  the 
ghost  of  a  dead  day.  And  presently  this  appari- 
tion was  gone,  and  the  deep  purple  line  of  the 
witched  mountain's  summit  grew  darker  against 
the  opaline  skies,  till  it  was  merged  in  a  dusky 
black,  and  the  shades  of  the  night  fell  thick  on 
the  landscape. 

The  scenic  effects  of  the  drama,  that  serve  to 
widen  the  mental  vision  and  cultivate  the  imag- 
ination of  even  the  poor  in  cities,  were  denied 
these  primitive,  simple  people;  but  that  magni- 
ficent pageant  of  the  four  seasons,  wherein  was 
forever  presented  the  imposing  splendor  of  the 
T'other  Mounting  in  an  ever-changing  grandeur 
of  aspect,  was  a  gracious  recompense  for  the 
spectacular  privileges  of  civilization.  And  this 


OVER  ON  THE   T OTHER  MOUNTING.        275 

evening  the  humble  family  party  on  Nathan 
White's  porch  beheld  a  scene  of  unique  impres- 
siveness. 

The  moon  had  not  yet  risen ;  the  winds  were 
awhirl ;  the  darkness  draped  the  earth  as  with 
a  pall.  Out  from  the  impenetrable  gloorn  of 
the  woods  on  the  T'other  Mounting  there 
started,  suddenly,  a  scarlet  globe  of  fire;  one 
long  moment  it  was  motionless,  but  near  it  the 
spectral  outline  of  a  hand  appeared  beckoning, 
or  warning,  or  raised  in  horror,  —  only  a  leafless 
tree,  catching  in  the  distance  a  semblance  of 
humanity.  Then  from  the  still  ball  of  fire  there 
streamed  upward  a  long,  slender  plume  of  golden 
light,  waving  back  and  forth  against  the  pale 
horizon.  Across  the  dark  slope  of  the  mountain 
below,  flashes  of  lightning  were  shooting  in  zig- 
zag lines,  and  wherever  they  gleamed  were  seen 
those  frantic  skeleton  hands  raised  and  wrung 
in  anguish.  It  was  cruel  sport  for  the  cruel 
winds ;  they  maddened  over  gorge  and  cliff  and 
along  the  wooded  steeps,  carrying  far  upon  their 
wings  the  sparks  of  desolation.  From  the  sum- 
mit, myriads  of  jets  of  flame  reached  up  to  the 
placid  stars;  about  the  base  of  the  mountain 
lurked  a  lake  of  liquid  fire,  with  wreaths  of 
blue  smoke  hovering  over  it ;  ever  and  anon, 
athwart  the  slope  darted  the  sudden  lightning, 
widening  into  sheets  of  flame  as  it  conquered 
new  ground. 


276  IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  astonishment  on  the  faces  grouped  about 
Nathan  White's  door  was  succeeded  by  a  star- 
tled anxiety.  After  the  first  incoherent  excla- 
mations of  surprise  came  the  pertinent  inquiry 
from  his  wife,  "  Ef  Old  Rocky-Top  war  ter  ketch 
too,  whar  would  we-uns  run  ter?  " 

Nathan  White's  countenance  had  in  its  ex- 
pression more  of  astounded  excitement  than  of 
bodily  fear.  "  Why,  bless  my  soul !  "  he  said 
at  length,  "  the  woods  away  over  yander,  what 
hev  been  burnin'  all  day,  ain't  nigh  enough  ter 
the  T'other  Mounting  ter  ketch  it,  —  nuthin' 
like  it." 

"  The  T'other  Mounting  would  burn,  though, 
ef  fire  war  put  ter  it,"  said  his  son.  The  two 
men  exchanged  a  glance  of  deep  significance. 

"Do  ye  mean  ter  say,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  White, 
her  fire-lit  face  agitated  by  a  sudden  supersti- 
tious terror,  "  that  that  thar  T'other  Mounting 
is  fired  by  witches  an'  sech  ?  " 

"  Don't  talk  so  loud,  Matildy,"  said  her  hus- 
band. "  Them  knows  best  ez  done  it." 

44  Thar  's  one  thing  sure,"  quavered  the  old 
man :  "  that  thar  fire  will  never  tech  a  leaf  on 
Old  Rocky -Top.  Thar  's  a  church  on  this  hyar 
mounting,  —  bless  the  Lord  fur  it !  —  an'  we 
lives  in  the  fear  o'  God." 

There  was  a  pause,  all  watching  with  dis- 
tended eyes  the  progress  of  the  flames. 


OVER  ON  THE  TOT  HER  MOUNTING.        277 

"  It  looks  like  it  mought  hev  been  kindled  in 
torment,"  said  the  young  daughter-in-law. 

"It  looks  down  thar,"  said  her  husband, 
pointing  to  the  lake  of  fire,  "  like  the  pit  itself." 

The  apathetic  inhabitants  of  Old  Rocky-Top 
were  stirred  into  an  activity  very  incongruous 
with  their  habits  and  the  hour.  During  the 
conflagration  they  traversed  long  distances  to 
reach  each  other's  houses  and  confer  concern- 
ing the  danger  and  the  questions  of  supernatural 
agency  provoked  by  the  mysterious  firing  of  the 
woods.  Nathan  White  had  few  neighbors,  but 
above  the  crackling  of  the  timber  and  the  roar 
of  the  flames  there  rose  the  quick  beat  of  run- 
ning footsteps  ;  the  undergrowth  of  the  forest 
near  at  hand  was  in  strange  commotion ;  and 
at  last,  the  figure  of  a  man  burst  forth,  the  light 
of  the  fire  showing  the  startling  pallor  of  his 
face  as  he  staggered  to  the  little  porch  and 
sank,  exhausted,  into  a  chair. 

"  Waal,  Caleb  Hoxie  !  "  exclaimed  Nathan 
White,  in  good-natured  raillery ;  "  ye  're  skeered, 
fur  true  !  What  ails  ye,  ter  think  Old  Rocky- 
Top  air  a-goin'  ter  ketch  too  ?  'T  ain't  nigh 
dry  enough,  I'm  a-thinkm'." 

"  Fire  kindled  that  thar  way  can't  tech  a  leaf 
on  Old  Rocky-Top,"  sleepily  piped  out  the  old 
man,  nodding  in  his  chair,  the  glare  of  the 
flames  which  rioted  over  the  T'other  Mounting 


278          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

gilding  his  long  white  hair  and  peaceful,  slum- 
berous face.  "  Thar  's  a  church  on  Old  Rocky- 
Top,  —  bless  the  "  —  The  sentence  drifted  away 
with  his  dreams. 

"  Does  ye  believe  —  them  —  them  " —  Caleb 
Hoxie's  trembling  white  lips  could  not  frame 
the  word  —  "  them  —  done  it  ?  " 

"  Like  ez  not,"  said  Nathan  White.  "  But  that 
ain't  a-troublin'  of  ye  an'  me.  I  ain't  never 
hearn  o'  them  witches  a-tormentin'  of  honest 
folks  what  ain't  done  nuthin'  hurtful  ter  no- 
body," he  added,  in  cordial  reassurance. 

His  son  was  half  hidden  behind  one  of  the 
rough  cedar  posts,  that  his  mirth  at  the  guest's 
display  of  cowardice  might  not  be  observed. 
But  the  women,  always  quick  to  suspect,  glanced 
meaningly  at  each  other  with  widening  eyes,  as 
they  stood  together  in  the  door-way. 

"  I  dunno,  —  I  dunno,"  Caleb  Hoxie  declared 
huskily.  "  I  ain't  never  done  nuthin'  ter  no- 
body, an'  what  do  ye  s'pose  them  witches  an' 
sech  done  ter  me  las'  night,  on  that  T'other 
Mounting  ?  I  war  a-goin'  over  yander  to  Gid- 
eon Croft's  fur  ter  physic  him,  ez  he  air  mortal 
low  with  the  fever ;  an'  ez  I  war  a-comin'  along- 
side o'  that  thar  high  bluff  "  — it  was  very  dis- 
tinct, with  the  flames  wreathing  fantastically 
about  its  gray,  rigid  features  —  "  they  thro  wed 
a  bowlder  ez  big  ez  this  hyar  porch  down  on  ter 


OVER  ON  THE   POTHER  MOUNTING.        279 

me.  It  jes'  grazed  me,  an'  knocked  me  down, 
an'  kivered  me  with  dirt.  An'  I  run  home 
a-hollerin' ;  an'  it  seemed  ter  me  ter-day  ez  I  war 
a-goin'  ter  screech  an'  screech  all  my  life,  like 
some  onsettled  crazy  critter.  It  'peared  like 
't  would  take  a  bar'l  o'  hop  tea  ter  git  me  quiet. 
An'  now  look  yander !  "  and  he  pointed  tremu- 
lously to  the  blazing  mountain. 

There  was  an  expression  of  conviction  on  the 
women's  faces.  All  their  lives  afterward  it 
was  there  whenever  Caleb  Hoxie's  name  was 
mentioned;  no  more  to  be  moved  or  changed 
than  the  stern,  set  faces  of  the  crags  among  the 
fiery  woods. 

"  Thar  's  a  church  on  this  hyar  mounting," 
said  the  old  man  feebly,  waking  for  a  moment, 
and  falling  asleep  the  next. 

Nathan  White  was  perplexed  and  doubtful, 
and  a  superstitious  awe  had  checked  the  laugh- 
ing youngster  behind  the  cedar  post. 

A  great  cloud  of  flame  came  rolling  through 
the  sky  toward  them,  golden,  pellucid,  spangled 
through  and  through  with  fiery  red  stars ;  pois- 
ing itself  for  one  moment  high  above  the  valley, 
then  breaking  into  myriads  of  sparks,  and  show- 
ering down  upon  the  dark  abysses  below. 

"  Look-a-hyar !  "  said  the  elder  woman  in  a 
frightened  under-tone  to  her  daughter-in-law ; 
"  this  hyar  wicked  critter  air  too  onlucky  ter  be 


280         IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

a-sittin'  'longside  of  us ;  we  '11  all  be  burnt  up 
afore  he  gits  hisself  away  from  hyar.  An'  who 
is  that  a-coinin'  yander  ? "  For  from  the  en- 
compassing woods  another  dark  figure  had 
emerged,  and  was  slowly  approaching  the  porch. 
The  wary  eyes  near  Caleb  Hoxie  saw  that  he 
fell  to  trembling,  and  that  he  clutched  at  a  post 
for  support.  But  the  hand  pointing  at  him  was 
shaken  as  with  a  palsy,  and  the  voice  hardly 
seemed  Tony  Britt's  as  it  cried  out,  in  an  agony 
of  terror,  "  What  air  ye  a-doin'  hyar,  a-sittin' 
'longside  o'  livin'  folks  ?  Yer  bones  air  under  a 
bowlder  on  the  T'other  Mounting,  an'  ye  air  a 
dead  man  !  " 

They  said  ever  afterward  that  Tony  Britt 
had  lost  his  mind  "  through  goin'  a-huntin'  jes' 
one  time  on  the  T'other  Mounting.  His  spirit 
air  all  broke,  an'  he 's  a  mighty  tame  critter  now- 
adays." Through  his  persistent  endeavor  he 
and  Caleb  Hoxie  became  quite  friendly,  and  he 
was  even  reported  to  "  'low  that  he  war  sati'fied 
that  Caleb  never  gin  his  wife  nuthin'  ter  hurt." 
"  Though,"  said  the  gossips  of  Old  Rocky- Top, 
"  them  women  up  ter  White's  will  hev  it  no 
other  way  but  that  Caleb  pizened  her,  an'  they 
would  n't  take  no  yerbs  from  him  no  more  'n 
he  war  a  rattlesnake.  But  Caleb  always  'pears 
sorter  skittish  when  he  an'  Tony  air  tergether, 


OVER  ON  THE  TOT  HER  MOUNTING.        281 

like  he  did  n't  know  when  Tony  war  a-goin'  ter 
fotch  him  a  lick.  But  law !  Tony  air  that 
changed  that  ye  can't  make  him  mad  'thout  ye 
mind  him  o'  the  time  he  called  Caleb  a  ghost." 

A  dark,  gloomy,  deserted  place  was  the 
charred  T'other  Mounting  through  all  the  long 
winter.  And  when  spring  came,  and  Old  Rocky- 
Top  was  green  with  delicate  fresh  verdure,  and 
melodious  with  singing  birds  and  chorusing 
breezes,  and  bedecked  as  for  some  great  festival 
with  violets  and  azaleas  and  laurel-blooms,  the 
T'other  Mounting  was  stark  and  wintry  and 
black  with  its  desolate,  leafless  trees.  But  after 
a  while  the  spring  came  for  it,  too  :  the  buds 
swelled  and  burst ;  flowering  vines  festooned 
the  grim  gray  crags  ;  and  the  dainty  freshness 
of  the  vernal  season  reigned  upon  its  summit, 
while  all  the  world  below  was  growing  into 
heat  and  dust.  The  circuit-rider  said  it  re- 
minded him  of  a  tardy  change  in  a  sinner's 
heart :  though  it  come  at  the  eleventh  hour,  the 
glorious  summer  is  before  it,  and  a  full  fruition ; 
though  it  work  but  an  hour  in  the  Lord's  vine- 
yard, it  receives  the  same  reward  as  those  who 
labored  through  all  the  day. 

"  An'  it  always  did  'pear  ter  me  ez  thar  war 
mighty  little  jestice  in  that,"  was  Mrs.  White's 
comment. 

But  at  the  meeting  when  that  sermon  was 


282          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

preached  Tony  Britt  told  his  "experience."  It 
seemed  a  confession,  for  according  to  the  gos- 
sips he  "'lowed  that  he  hed  flung  that  bowl- 
der down  on  Caleb  Hoxie,  —  what  the  witches 
flung,  ye  know,  —  'kase  he  believed  then  that 
Caleb  hed  killed  his  wife  with  pizenous  yerbs ; 
an'  he  went  back  the  nex'  night  an'  fired  the 
woods,  ter  make  folks  think  when  they  fund 
Caleb's  bones  that  he  war  a-runnin'  from  the 
blaze  an'  fell  off'n  the  bluff."  And  everybody 
on  Old  Rocky-Top  said  incredulously,  "  Pore 
Tony  Britt !  He  hev  los'  his  mind  through 
goin'  a-huntin'  jes'  one  time  on  the  T'other 
Mounting." 


THE  "HARNT"  THAT  WALKS  CHIL- 
HOWEE. 

JUNE  had  crossed  the  borders  of  Tennessee. 
Even  on  the  summit  of  Chilhowee  Mountain 
the  apples  in  Peter  Giles's  orchard  were  begin- 
ning to  redden,  and  his  Indian  corn,  planted  on 
so  steep  a  declivity  that  the  stalks  seemed  to 
have  much  ado  to  keep  their  footing,  was  crested 
with  tassels  and  plumed  with  silk.  Among  the 
dense  forests,  seen  by  no  man's  eye,  the  elder 
was  flying  its  creamy  banners  in  honor  of  June's 
coming,  and,  heard  by  no  man's  ear,  the  pink 
and  white  bells  of  the  azalea  rang  out  melodies 
of  welcome. 

"  An'  it  air  a  toler'ble  for'ard  season.  Yer 
wheat  looks  likely ;  an'  yer  gyarden  truck  air 
thrivin'  powerful.  Even  that  cold  spell  we-uns 
bed  about  the  full  o'  the  tnoon  in  May  ain't 
done  sot  it  back  none,  it  'pears  like  ter  me. 
But,  'cording  ter  my  way  o'  thinkin',  ye  hev  got 
chickens  enough  hyar  ter  eat  off  every  pea- 
bloom  ez  soon  ez  it  opens."  And  Simon  Bur- 
ney  glanced  with  a  gardener's  disapproval  at 
the  numerous  fowls,  lifting  their  red  combs  and 


284          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

tufted  top-knots  here  and  there  among  the  thick 
clover  under  the  apple-trees. 

"  Them's  Clarsie's. chickens, — my  darter,  ye 
know,"  drawled  Peter  Giles,  a  pale,  listless,  and 
lank  mountaineer.  "  An'  she  hev  been  gin  ter 
onderstand  ez  they  hev  got  ter  be  kep'  out 
'n  the  gyarden  ;  'thout,"  he  added  indulgently, 
—  "  'thout  I  'm  a-plowin',  when  I  lets  'em  foller 
in  the  furrow  ter  pick  up  worms.  But  law ! 
Clarsie  is  so  spry  that  she  don't  ax  no  better  'n 
ter  be  let  ter  run  them  chickens  off  'n  the 
peas." 

Then  the  two  men  tilted  their  chairs  against 
the  posts  of  the  little  porch  in  front  of  Peter 
Giles's  log  cabin,  and  puffed  their  pipes  in  si- 
lence. The  panorama  spread  out  before  them 
showed  misty  and  dreamy  among  the  delicate 
spiral  wreaths  of  smoke.  But  was  that  gossa- 
mer-like illusion,  lying  upon  the  far  horizon,  the 
magic  of  nicotian,  or  the  vague  presence  of  dis- 
tant heights  ?  As  ridge  after  ridge  came  down 
from  the  sky  in  ever-graduating  shades  of  in- 
tenser  blue,  Peter  Giles  might  have  told  you 
that  this  parallel  system  of  enchantment  was 
only  "  the  mountings :  "  that  here  was  Foxy, 
and  there  was  Big  Injun,  and  still  beyond  was 
another,  which  he  had  "  hearn  tell  ran  spang  up 
into  Virginny."  The  sky  that  bent  to  clasp  this 
kindred  blue  was  of  varying  moods.  Floods  of 


THE  "HARNT"   THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.    285 

sunshine  submerged  Chilhowee  in  liquid  gold, 
and  revealed  that  dainty  outline  limned  upon 
the  northern  horizon  ;  but  over  the  Great  Smoky 
mountains  clouds  had  gathered,  and  a  gigantic 
rainbow  bridged  the  valley. 

Peter  Giles's  listless  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a 
bit  of  red  clay  road,  which  was  visible  through 
a  gap  in  the  foliage  far  below.  Even  a  tiny 
object,  that  ant-like  crawled  upon  it,  could  be 
seen  from  the  summit  of  Chilhowee.  "  I  reckon 
that 's  my  brother's  wagon  an'  team,"  he  said, 
as  he  watched  the  moving  atom  pass  under  the 
gorgeous  triumphal  arch.  "  He  'lowed  he  war 
goin'  ter  the  Cross-Roads  ter-day." 

Simon  Burney  did  not  speak  for  a  moment. 
When  he  did,  his  words  seemed  widely  ir- 
relevant. "  That 's  a  likely  gal  o'  yourn,"  he 
drawled,  with  an  odd  constraint  in  his  voice,  — 
"a  likely  gal,  that  Clarsie." 

There  was  a  quick  flash  of  surprise  in  Peter 
Giles's  dull  eyes.  He  covertly  surveyed  his 
guest,  with  an  astounded  curiosity  rampant  in 
his  slow  brains.  Simon  Burney  had  changed 
color ;  an  expression  of  embarrassment  lurked 
in  every  line  of  his  honest,  florid,  hard-featured 
face.  An  alert  imagination  might  have  de- 
tected a  deprecatory  self-consciousness  in  every 
gray  hair  that  striped  the  black  beard  raggedly 
fringing  his  chin. 


286          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

"  Yes,"  Peter  Giles  at  length  replied,  "  Clar- 
sie  air  a  likely  enough  gal.  But  she  air  might- 
ily sot  ter  hevin'  her  own  way.  An'  ef  't 
ain't  give  ter  her  peaceable-like,  she  jes'  takes 
it,  whether  or  no." 

This  statement,  made  by  one  presumably 
fully  informed  on  the  subject,  might  have 
damped  the  ardor  of  many  a  suitor,  —  for  the 
monstrous  truth  was  dawning  on  Peter  Giles's 
mind  that  suitor  was  the  position  to  which  this 
slow,  elderly  widower  aspired.  But  Simon  Bur- 
ney,  with  that  odd,  all-pervading  constraint 
still  prominently  apparent,  mildly  observed, 
"  Waal,  ez  much  ez  I  hev  seen  of  her  goinVon, 
it  'pears  ter  me  ez  her  way  air  a  mighty  good 
way.  An'  it  ain't  comical  that  she  likes  it.V 

Urgent  justice  compelled  Peter  Giles  to  make 
some  amends  to  the  absent  Clarissa.  "  That  's 
a  fac',"  he  admitted.  "An*  Clarsie  ain't  no 
hand  ter  jaw.  She  don't  hev  no  words.  But 
then,"  he  qualified,  truth  and  consistency  alike 
constraining  him,  "she  air  a  toler'ble  hard- 
headed  gal.  That  air  a  true  word.  Ye  mought 
ez  well  try  ter  hender  the  sun  from  shining  ez 
ter  make  that  thar  Clarsie  Giles  do  what  she 
don't  want  ter  do." 

To  be  sure,  Peter  Giles  had  a  right  to  his 
opinion  as  to  the  hardness  of  his  own  daughter's 
head.  The  expression  of  his  views,  however, 


THE  "HARNT"    THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.-V&l 

provoked  Simon  Burney  to  wrath ;  there  was 
something  astir  within  him  that  in  a  worthier 
subject  might  have  been  called  a  chivalric  thrill, 
and  it  forbade  him  to  hold  his  peace.  He  re- 
torted :  "  Of  course  ye  kin  say  that,  ef  so 
minded  ;  but  ennybody  ez  hev  got  eyes  kin  see 
the  change  ez  hev  been  made  in  this  hyar  place 
sence  that  thar  gal  hev  been  growed.  I  ain't 
a-purtendin'  ter  know  that  thar  Clarsie  ez  well 
ez  you-uns  knows  her  hyar  at  home,  but  I  hev 
seen  enough,  an'  a  deal  more  'n  enough,  of  her 
goin's-on,  ter  know  that  what  she  does  ain't 
done  fur  herself.  An'  ef  she  will  hev  her  way, 
it  air  fur  the  good  of  the  whole  tribe  of  ye.  It 
'pears  ter  me  ez  thar  ain't  many  gals  like  that 
thar  Clarsie.  An'  she  air  a  merciful  critter. 
She  air  mighty  savin'  of  the  feelin's  of  every- 
thing, from  the  cow  an'  the  mare  down  ter  the 
dogs,  an'  pigs,  an'  chickens  ;  always  a-feedin'  of 
'em  jes'  ter  the  time,  an'  never  draggin',  an' 
clawin',  an'  beatin'  of  'em.  Why,  that  thar 
Clarsie  can't  put  her  foot  out  'n  the  door,  that 
every  dumb  beastis  on  this  hyar  place  ain't 
a-runnin'  ter  git  nigh  her.  I  hev  seen  them  pigs 
mos'  climb  the  fence  when  she  shows  her  face 
at  the  door.  'Pears  ter  me  ez  that  thar  Clarsie 
could  tame  a  b'ar,  ef  she  looked  at  him  a  time 
or  two,  she  's  so  savin'  o'  the  critter's  feelin's ! 
An'  thar  's  that  old  yaller  dog  o'  yourn,"  point- 


288  "      IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

ing  to  an  ancient  cur  that  was  blinking  in  the 
sun,  "  he  's  older  'n  Clarsie,  an'  no  'count  in  the 
worl'.  I  hev  hearn  ye  say  forty  times  that  ye 
would  kill  him,  'ceptin'  that  Clarsie  purtected 
him,  an'  hed  sot  her  heart  on  his  a-livin'  along. 
An'  all  the  home-folks,  an'  everybody  that  kems 
hyar  to  sot  an'  talk  awhile,  never  misses  a 
chance  ter  kick  that  thar  old  dog,  or  poke  him 
with  a  stick,  or  cuss  him.  But  Clarsie  !  —  I  hev 
seen  that  gal  take  the  bread  an'  meat  off'n  her 
plate,  an'  give  it  ter  that  old  dog,  ez  'pears  ter 
me  ter  be  the  worst  dispositionest  dog  I  ever 
see,  an'  no  thanks  lef  in  him.  He  hain't  hed 
the  grace  ter  wag  his  tail  fur  twenty  year. 
That  thar  Clarsie  air  surely  a  merciful  critter, 
an'  a  mighty  spry,  likely  young  gal,  besides." 

Peter  Giles  sat  in  stunned  astonishment  dur- 
ing this  speech,  which  was  delivered  in  a  slow, 
drawling  monotone,  with  frequent  meditative 
pauses,  but  nevertheless  emphatically.  He 
made  no  reply,  and  as  they  were  once  more 
silent  there  rose  suddenly  the  sound  of  melody 
upon  the  air.  It  came  from  beyond  that  tu- 
multuous stream  that  raced  with  the  wind  down 
the  mountain's  side ;  a  great  log  thrown  from 
bank  to  bank  served  as  bridge.  The  song  grew 
momentarily  more  distinct ;  among  the  leaves 
there  were  fugitive  glimpses  of  blue  and  white, 
and  at  last  Clarsie  appeared,  walking  lightly 


THE  "HARNT"    THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.    289 

along  the  log,  clad  in  her  checked  homespun 
dress,  and  with  a  pail  upon  her  head. 

She  was  a  tall,  lithe  girl,  with  that  delicately 
transparent  complexion  often  seen  among  the 
women  of  these  mountains.  Her  lustreless 
black  hair  lay  along  her  forehead  without  a  rip- 
ple or  wave ;  there  was  something  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  large  eyes  that  suggested  those 
of  a  deer,  —  something  free,  untamable,  and 
yet  gentle.  "  'T  ain't  no  wonder  ter  me  ez 
Clarsie  is  all  tuk  up  with  the  wild  things,  an' 
critters  ginerally,"  her  mother  was  wont  to  say. 
"  She  sorter  looks  like  'em,  I  'm  a-thinkin'." 

As  she  came  in  sight  there  was  a  renewal  of 
that  odd  constraint  in  Simon  Burney's  face  and 
manner,  and  he  rose  abruptly.  "  Waal,"  he 
said,  hastily,  going  to  his  horse,  a  raw-boned 
sorrel,  hitched  to  the  fence,  "  it 's  about  time  I 
war  a-startin'  home,  I  reckons." 

He  nodded  to  his  host,  who  silently  nodded 
in  return,  and  the  old  horse  jogged  off  with  him 
down  the  road,  as  Clarsie  entered  the  house  and 
placed  the  pail  upon  a  shelf. 

"  Who  d'  ye  think  hev  been  hyar  a-speakin' 
of  complimm£s  on  ye,  Clarsie?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Giles,  who  had  overheard  through  the  open  door 
every  word  of  the  loud,  drawling  voice  on  the 
porch. 

Clarsie's  liquid  eyes  widened  with  surprise, 

19 


290          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

and  a  faint  tinge  of  rose  sprang  into  her  pale 
face,  as  she  looked  an  expectant  inquiry  at  her 
mother. 

Mrs.  Giles  was  a  slovenly,  indolent  woman, 
anxious,  at  the  age  of  forty-five,  to  assume  the 
prerogatives  of  advanced  years.  She  had  placed 
all  her  domestic  cares  upon  the  shapely  shoul- 
ders of  her  willing  daughter,  and  had  betaken 
herself  to  the  chimney-corner  and  a  pipe. 

"  Yes,  thar  hev  been  somebody  hyar  a-speak- 
in'  of  compliwm£s  on  ye,  Clarsie,"  she  reiter- 
ated, with  chuckling  amusement.  •  "  He  war  a 
mighty  peart,  likely  boy,  —  that  he  war !  " 

Clarsie's  color  deepened. 

"  Old  Simon  Burney  !  "  exclaimed  her  mother, 
in  great  glee  at  the  incongruity  of  the  idea. 
"  Old  Simon  Burney  !  —  jes'  a-sittin'  out  thar, 
a-wastin'  the  time,  an'  a-burnin'  of  daylight  — 
jes'  ez  perlite  an'  smilin'  ez  a  basket  of  chips 
—  a-speakin'  of  complimints  on  ye !  " 

There  was  a  flash  of  laughter  among  the  syl- 
van suggestions  of  Clarsie's  eyes,  —  a  flash  as 
of  sudden  sunlight  upon  water.  But  despite 
her  mirth  she  seemed  to  be  unaccountably  dis- 
appointed. The  change  in  her  manner  was  not 
noticed  by  her  mother,  who  continued  banter- 
ingly,  — 

"  Simon  Burney  air  a  mighty  pore  old  man. 
Ye  oughter  be  sorry  fur  him,  Clarsie.  Ye 


THE  "HARNT"    THAT   WALKS    CHILE  OWEE,  291 

must  n't  think  less  of  folks  than  ye  does  of  the 
dumb  beastis,  —  that  ain't  religion.  Ye  knows 
ye  air  sorry  fur  mos'  everything  ;  why  not  fur 
this  comical  old  consarn?  Ye  oughter  marry 
him  ter  take  keer  of  him.  He  said  ye  war  a 
merciful  critter  ;  now  is  yer  chance  ter  show  it ! 
Why,  air  ye  a-goin'  ter  weavin',  Clarsie,  jes' 
when  I  wants  ter  talk  ter  ye  'bout  'n  old  Simon 
Burney  ?  But  law !  I  knows  ye  kerry  him  with 
ye  in  yer  heart." 

The  girl  summarily  closed  the  conversation 
by  seating  herself  before  a  great  hand-loom  ; 
presently  the  persistent  thump,  thump,  of  the 
batten  and  the  noisy  creak  of  the  treadle  filled 
the  room,  and  through  all  the  long,  hot  after- 
noon her  deft,  practiced  hands  lightly  tossed  the 
shuttle  to  and  fro. 

The  breeze  freshened,  after  the  sun  went 
down,  and  the  hop  and  gourd  vines  were  all 
astir  as  they  clung  about  the  little  porch  where 
Clarsie  was  sitting  now,  idle  at  last.  The  rain 
clouds  had  disappeared,  and  there  bent  over  the 
dark,  heavily  wooded  ridges  a  pale  blue  sky, 
with  here  and  there  the  crystalline  sparkle  of  a 
star.  A  halo  was  shimmering  in  the  east,  where 
the  mists  had  gathered  about  the  great  white 
moon,  hanging  high  above  the  mountains. 
Noiseless  wings  flitted  through  the  dusk ;  now 
and  then  the  bats  swept  by  so  close  as  to  wave 


292          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Clarsie's  hair  with  the  wind  of  their  flight. 
What  an  airy,  glittering,  magical  thing  was  that 
gigantic  spider-web  suspended  between  the  sil- 
ver moon  and  her  shining  eyes  !  Ever  and  anon 
there  came  from  the  woods  a  strange,  weird, 
long-drawn  sigh,  unlike  the  stir  of  the  wind  in 
the  trees,  unlike  the  fret  of  the  water  on  the 
rocks.  Was  it  the  voiceless  sorrow  of  the  sad 
earth  ?  There  were  stars  in  the  night  besides 
those  known  to  astronomers :  the  stellular  fire- 
flies gemmed  the  black  shadows  with  a  fluctu- 
ating brilliancy  ;  they  circled  in  and  out  of  the 
porch,  and  touched  the  leaves  above  Clarsie's 
head  with  quivering  points  of  light.  A  steadier 
and  an  intenser  gleam  was  advancing  along  the 
road,  and  the  sound  of  languid  footsteps  came 
with  it ;  the  aroma  of  tobacco  graced  the  at- 
mosphere, and  a  tall  figure  walked  up  to  the 
gate. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  said  Peter  Giles,  rising, 
and  tendering  the  guest  a  chair.  "  Ye  air  Tom 
Pratt,  ez  well  ez  I  kin  make  out  by  this  light. 
Waal,  Tom,  we  hain't  furgot  ye  sence  ye  done 
been  hyar." 

As  Tom  had  been  there  on  the  previous 
evening,  this  might  be  considered  a  joke,  or  an 
equivocal  compliment.  The  young  fellow  was 
restless  and  awkward  under  it,  but  Mrs.  Giles 
chuckled  with  great  merriment. 


THE  "HARNT"    THAT  WALKS   CHILHOWEE.    293 

"  An'  how  air  ye  a-cornin'  on,  Mrs.  Giles  ?  " 
he  asked  propitiatorily. 

"  Jes'  toler'ble,  Tom.  Air  they  all  well  ter 
yer  house  ?  " 

"Yes,  they're  toler'ble  well,  too."  He 
glanced  at  Clarsie,  intending  to  address  to  her 
some  polite  greeting,  but  the  expression  of  her 
shy,  half-startled  eyes,  turned  upon  the  far-away 
moon,  warned  him.  "  Thar  never  war  a  gal  so 
skittish,"  he  thought.  "  She  'd  run  a  mile, 
skeered  ter  death,  ef  I  said  a  word  ter  her." 

And  he  was  prudently  silent. 

"  Waal,"  said  Peter  Giles,  "  what 's  the  news 
out  yer  way,  Tom  ?  Enny thing  a-goin'  on  ?  " 

"  Thar  war  a  shower  yander  on  the  Back- 
bone ;  it  rained  toler'ble  hard  fur  a  while,  an' 
sot  up  the  corn  wonderful.  Did  ye  git  enny 
hyar?" 

"  Not  a  drap." 

"  'Pears  ter  me  ez  I  kin  see  the  clouds  a-cir- 
clin'  round  Chilhowee,  an'  a-rainin'  on  every- 
body's corn-field  'ceptin'  ourn,"  said  Mrs.  Giles. 
"  Some  folks  is  the  favored  of  the  Lord,  an' 
t'  others  hev  ter  work  fur  everything  an'  git 
nuthin'.  Waal,  waal ;  we-uns  will  see  our  re- 
ward in  the  nex'  worl'.  Thar  's  a  better  worF 
than  this,  Tom." 

"  That 's  a  fac',"  said  Tom,  in  orthodox  as- 
sent. 


294          IN   THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

"  An'  when  we  leaves  hyar  once,  we  leaves 
all  trouble  an'  care  behind  us,  Tom ;  fur  we 
don't  come  back  no  more."  Mrs.  Giles  was 
drifting  into  one  of  her  pious  moods. 

"I  dunno,"  said  Tom.  "Thar  hev  been 
them  ez  hev." 

"  Hev  what  ?  M  demanded  Peter  Giles,  star- 
tled. 

"  Hev  come  back  ter  this  hyar  y earth.  Thar 's 
a  harnt  that  walks  Chilhowee  every  night  o'  the 
worl'.  I  know  them  ez  hev  seen  him." 

Clarsie's  great  dilated  eyes  were  fastened  on 
the  speaker's  face.  There  was  a  dead  silence 
for  a  moment,  more  eloquent  with  these  looks 
of  amazement  than  any  words  could  have  been. 

"I  reckons  ye  remember  a  puny,  shriveled 
little  man,  named  Reuben  Crabb,  ez  used  ter 
live  yander,  eight  mile  along  the  ridge  ter  that 
thar  big  sulphur  spring,"  Tom  resumed,  appeal- 
ing to  Peter  Giles.  "  He  war  born  with  only 
one  arm." 

"  I  'members  him,"  interpolated  Mrs.  Giles, 
vivaciously.  "  He  war  a  mighty  porely,  sickly 
little  critter,  all  the  days  of  his  life.  'T  war  a 
wonder  he  war  ever  raised  ter  be  a  man,  —  an' 
a  pity,  too.  An'  't  war  powerful  comical,  the 
way  of  his  takin'  off;  a  stunted,  one-armed  lit- 
tle critter  a-ondertakin'  ter  fight  folks  an'  shoot 
pistols.  He  hed  the  use  o'  his  one  arm,  sure." 


THE  "HARNT"  THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.  295 

"  Waal,"  said  Tom,  '*  his  house  ain't  thar 
now,  'kase  Sam  Grim's  brothers  burned  it  ter 
the  ground  fur  his  a-killin'  of  Sam.  That 
warn't  all  that  war  done  ter  Reuben  fur  killin' 
of  Sam.  The  sheriff  run  Reuben  Crabb  down 
this  hyar  road  'bout  a  mile  from  hyar,  —  mebbe 
less,  —  an'  shot  him  dead  in  the  road,  jes'  whar 
it  forks.  Waal,  Reuben  war  in  company  with 
another  evil-doer,  —  he  war  from  the  Cross- 
Roads,  an'  I  furgits  what  he  hed  done,  but  he 
war  a-tryin'  ter  hide  in  the  mountings,  too  ;  an' 
the  sheriff  lef  Reuben  a-lying  thar  in  the  road, 
while  he  tries  ter  ketch  up  with  the  t'other  ; 
but  his  horse  got  a  stone  in  his  hoof,  an'  he  los' 
time,  an'  hed  ter  gin  it  up.  An'  when  he  got 
back  ter  the  forks  o'  the  road  whar  he  had  lef 
Reuben  a-lyin'  dead,  thar  war  nuthin'  thar  'cept- 
in'  a  pool  o'  blood.  Waal,  he  went  right  on  ter 
Reuben's  house,  an'  them  Grim  boys  hed  burnt 
it  ter  the  ground ;  but  he  seen  Reuben's  brother 
Joel.  An'  Joel,  he  tole  the  sheriff  that  late 
that  evenin'  he  hed  tuk  Reuben's  body  out'n 
the  road  an'  buried  it,  'kase  it  hed  been  lyin' 
thar  in  the  road  ever  sence  early  in  the  mornin', 
an*  he  could  n't  leave  it  thar  all  night,  an'  he 
hed  n't  no  shelter  fur  it,  sence  the  Grim  boys 
hed  burnt  down  the  house.  So  he  war  obleeged 
ter  bury  it.  An'  Joel  showed  the  sheriff  a  iiew- 
made  grave,  an'  Reuben's  coat  whar  the  sher- 


296          IN  THE  TENNESSEE   MOUNTAINS. 

iff's  bullet  bed  gone  in  at  the  back  an'  kem 
out'n  the  breast.  The  sheriff  'lowed  ez  they  'd 
fine  Joel  fifty  dollars  fur  a-buryin'  of  Reuben 
afore  the  cor'ner  kem  ;  but  they  never  done  it,  ez 
I  knows  on.  The  sheriff  said  that  when  the  cor'- 
ner kem  the  body  would  be  tuk  up  fur  a  'quest. 
But  thar  hed  been  a  powerful  big  frishet,  an' 
the  river  'twixt  the  cor'ner's  house  an'  Chil- 
howee  could  n't  be  forded  fur  three  weeks. 
The  cor'ner  never  kem,  an'  so  thar  it  all  stayed. 
That  war  four  year  ago." 

"  Waal,"  said  Peter  Giles,  dryly,  « I  ain't 
seen  no  harnt  yit.  I  knowed  all  that  afore." 

Clarsie's  wondering  eyes  upon  the  young 
man's  moonlit  face  had  elicited  these  facts,  fa- 
miliar to  the  elders,  but  strange,  he  knew,  to  her. 

"I  war  jes'  a-goin'  on  ter  tell,"  said  Tom, 
abashed.  "  Waal,  ever  sence  his  brother  Joel 
died,  this  spring,  Reuben's  harnt  walks  Chil- 
howee.  He  war  seen  week  afore  las',  'bout  day- 
break, by  Ephraim  Blenkins,  who  hed  been  a- 
fishin',  an'  war  a-goin'  home.  Eph  happened 
ter  stop  in  the  laurel  ter  wind  up  his  line,  when 
all  in  a  minit  he  seen  the  harnt  go  by,  his  face 
white,  an'  his  eye-balls  like  fire,  an'  puny  an' 
one-armed,  jes'  like  he  lived.  Eph,  he  owed 
me  a  haffen  day's  work ;  I  holped  him  ter  plow 
las'  month,  an'  so  he  kem  ter-day  an'  hoed 
along  cornsider'ble  ter  pay  fur  it.  He  say  he 


THE  "HARNT"  THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.  297 

believes  the  harnt  never  seen  him,  'kase  it  went 
right  by.  He  'lowed  ef  the  harnt  hed  so  much 
ez  cut  one  o'  them  blazin'  eyes  round  at  him  he 
could  n't  but  hev  drapped  dead.  Waal,  this 
mornin',  'bout  sunrise,  my  brother  Bob's  little 
gal,  three  year  old,  strayed  off  from  home  while 
her  mother  war  out  milkin'  the  cow.  An'  we 
went  a-huntin'  of  her,  mightily  worked  up,  'kase 
thar  hev  been  a  b'ar  prowlin'  round  our  corn- 
field twict  this  summer.  An'  I  went  to  the 
right,  an'  Bob  went  to  the  lef .  An'  he  say  ez 
he  war  a-pushin'  'long  through  the  laurel,  he 
seen  the  bushes  ahead  of  him  a-rustlin'.  An' 
he  jes'  stood  still  an'  watched  'em.  An'  fur 
a  while  the  bushes  war  still  too ;  an'  then  they 
moved  jes'  a  little,  fust  this  way  an'  then  that, 
till  all  of  a  suddint  the  leaves  opened,  like  the 
mouth  of  hell  mought  hev  done,  an'  thar  he 
seen  Reuben  Crabb's  face.  He  say  he  never 
seen  sech  a  face !  Its  mouth  war  open,  an'  its 
eyes  war  a-startin'  out  'n  its  head,  an'  its  skin 
war  white  till  it  war  blue  ;  an'  ef  the  devil  hed 
hed  it  a-hangin'  over  the  coals  that  ininit  it 
could  n't  hev  looked  no  more  skeered.  But 
that  war  all  that  Bob  seen,  'kase  he  jes'  shet 
his  eyes  an'  screeched  an'  screeched  like  he  war 
(fcstracted.  An'  when  he  stopped  a  second  ter 
ketch  his  breath  he  hearn  su'thin'  a-answerin' 
him  back,  sorter  weak-like,  an'  thar  war  little 


298  IN  THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Peggy  a-pnllin'  through  the  laurel.  Ye  know 
she 's  too  little  ter  talk  good,  but  the  folks 
down  ter  our  house  believes  she  seen  the  harnt, 
too." 

"  My  Lord  !  "  exclaimed  Peter  Giles.  "  I 
'low  I  couldn't  live  a  minit  ef  I  war  ter  see 
that  thar  harnt  that  walks  Chilhowee  ! " 

"I  know  /could  n't,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Nor  me,  nuther,"  murmured  Clarsie. 

"Waal,"  said  Tom,  resuming  the  thread  of 
his  narrative,  "  we  hev  all  been  a-talkin'  down 
yander  ter  pur  house  ter  make  out  the  reason 
why  Reuben  Crabb's  harnt  hev  sot  out  ter  walk 
jes*  sence  his  brother  Joel  died,  —  'kase  it  war 
never  seen  afore  then.  An'  ez  nigh  ez  we  kin 
make  it  out,  the  reason  is  'kase  thar  's  nobody 
lef '  in  this  hyar  worF  what  believes  he  war  n't 
ter  blame  in  that  thar  killin'  o'  Sam  Grim.  Joel 
always  swore  ez  Reuben  never  killed  him  no 
more  'n  nuthin' ;  that  Sam's  own  pistol  went  off 
in  his  own  hand,  an'  shot  him  through  the  heart 
jes'  ez  he  war  a-drawin'  of  it  ter  shoot  Reuben 
Crabb.  An'  I  hev  hearn  other  men  ez  war 
a-standin'  by  say  the  same  thing,  though  them 
Grims  tells  another  tale  ;  but  ez  Reuben  never 
owned  no  pistol  in  his  life,  nor  kerned  one,  it 
don't  'pear  ter  me  ez  what  them  Grims  say  air 
reasonable.  Joel  always  swore  ez  Sam  Grim 
war  a  mighty  mean  man,  —  a  great  big  feller 


THE   "HARNT"    THAT  WALKS   CHILHOWEE.    299 

like  him  a-rockin'  of  a  deformed  little  critter, 
an'  a-mockin'  of  him,  an'  a  hittin'  of  him.  An' 
the  day  of  the  fight  Sam  jes'  knocked  him  down 
fur  nuthin'  at  all ;  an'  afore  ye  could  wink  Reu- 
ben jumped  up  suddint,  an'  flew  at  him  like  an 
eagle,  an'  struck  him  in  the  face.  An'  then 
Sam  drawed  his  pistol,  an'  it  went  off  in  his  own 
hand,  an'  shot  him  through  the  heart,  an'  killed 
him  dead.  Joel  said  that  ef  he  could  hev  kep' 
that  pore  little  critter  Reuben  still,  an'  let  the 
sheriff  arrest  him  peaceable-like,  he  war  sure 
the  jury  would  hev  let  him  off ;  'kase  how  war 
Reuben  a-goin  ter  shoot  ennybody  when  Sarn 
Grim  never  left  a-holt  of  the  only  pistol  between 
'em,  in  life,  or  in  death  ?  They  tells  me  they 
hed  ter  bury  Sam  Grim  with  that  thar  pistol 
in  his  hand  ;  his  grip  war  too  tight  fur  death 
to  unloose  it.  But  Joel  said  that  Reuben  war 
sartain  they  'd  hang  him.  He  hed  n't  never 
seen  no  jestice  from  enny  one  man,  an'  he  could 
n't  look  fur  it  from  twelve  men.  So  he  jes'  sot 
out  ter  run  through  the  woods,  like  a  painter  or 
a  wolf,  ter  be  hunted  by  the  sheriff,  an'  he  war 
run  down  an'  kilt  in  the  road.  Joel  said  lie 
kep'  up  arter  the  sheriff  ez  well  ez  he  could  on 
foot,  — fur  the  Crabbs  never  hed  no  horse,  — 
ter  try  ter  beg  fur  Reuben,  ef  he  war  cotched, 
an'  tell  how  little  an'  how  weakly  he  war.  I 
never  seen  a  young  man's  head  turn  white  like 


300          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

Joel's  done ;  he  said  he  reckoned  it  war  his 
troubles.  But  ter  the  las'  he  stuck  ter  his  rifle 
faithful.  He  war  a  powerful  hunter ;  he  war 
out  rain  or  shine,  hot  or  cold,  in  sech  weather 
ez  other  folks  would  think  thar  war  n't  no  use 
in  try  in'  ter  do  nuthin'  in.  I  'm  mightily  afeard 
o'  seem'  Reuben,  now,  that 's  a  fac',"  concluded 
Tom,  frankly  ;  "  'kase  I  hev  hearn  tell,  an'  I  be- 
lieves it,  that  ef  a  harnt  speaks  ter  ye,  it  air 
sartain  ye  're  bound  ter  die  right  then." 

"  'Pears  ter  me,"  said  Mrs.  Giles,  "ez  many 
mountings  ez  thar  air  round  hyar,  he  mought 
hev  tuk  ter  walkin'  some  o'  them,  stiddier  Chil- 
howee." 

There  was  a  sudden  noise  close  at  hand :  a 
great  inverted  splint-basket,  from  which  came 
a  sound  of  flapping  wings,  began  to  move 
slightly  back  and  forth.  Mrs.  Giles  gasped  out 
an  ejaculation  of  terror,  the  two  men  sprang  to 
their  feet,  and  the  coy  Clarsie  laughed  aloud  in 
an  exuberance  of  delighted  mirth,  forgetful  of 
her  shyness.  "  I  declar'  ter  goodness,  you-uns 
air  all  skeered  fur  true  !  Did  ye  think  it  war 
the  harnt  that  walks  Chilhowee?" 

"  What 's  under  that  thar  basket?"  demanded 
Peter  Giles,  rather  sheepishly,  as  he  sat  down 
again. 

"  Nuthin'  but  the  duck-legged  Dominicky," 
said  Clarsie,  "  what  air  bein'  broke  up  from 


THE   "HARNT"    THAT  WALKS   CHILHOWEE.  301 

settin'."  The  moonlight  was  full  upon  the 
dimpling  merriment  in  her  face,  upon  her  shin- 
ing eyes  and  parted  red  lips,  and  her  gurgling 
laughter  was  pleasant  to  hear.  Tom  Pratt 
edged  his  chair  a  trifle  nearer,  as  he,  too,  sat 
down. 

"  Ye  ought  n't  never  ter  break  up  a  duck- 
legged  hen,  nor  a  Dominicky,  nuther,"  he  vol- 
unteered, "  'kase  they  air  sech  a  good  kind  o' 
hen  ter  kerry  chickens ;  but  a  hen  that  is  duck- 
legged  an'  Dominicky  too  oughter  be  let  ter 
set,  whether  or  no." 

Had  he  been  warned  in  a  dream,  he  could 
have  found  no  more  secure  road  to  Clarsie's  fa- 
vor and  interest  than  a  discussion  of  the  poul- 
try. "  I  'm  a-thinkin',''  she  said,  "  that  it  air 
too  hot  fur  hens  ter  set  now,  an'  't  will  be  till 
the  las'  of  August." 

"  It  don't  'pear  ter  me  ez  it  air  hot  much  in 
June  up  hyar  on  Chilhowee,  —  thar  's  a  differ, 
I  know,  down  in  the  valley ;  but  till  July,  on 
Chilhowee,  it  don't  'pear  ter  me  ez  it  air  too  hot 
ter  set  a  hen.  An'  a  duck-legged  Dominicky 
air  mighty  hard  ter  break  up," 

"  That's  a  fac',"  Clarsie  admitted;  "but  I  '11 
hev  ter  do  it,  somehow,  'kase  I  ain't  got  no  eggs 
fur  her.  All  my  hens  air  kerryin'  of  chickens." 

"  Waal !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  seizing  his  oppor- 
tunity, "  I  '11  bring  ye  some  ter-morrer  night, 


802          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

when  1  come  agin.  We-uns  hev  got  eggs  ter 
our  house." 

"  Thanky,"  said  Clarsie,  shyly  smiling. 

This  unique  method  of  courtship  would  have 
progressed  very  prosperously  but  for  the  inter- 
ference of  the  elders,  who  are  an  element  always 
more  or  less  adverse  to  love-making.  "  Ye 
oughter  turn  out  yer  hen  now,  Clarsie,"  said 
Mrs.  Giles,  "  ez  Tom  air  a-goin'  ter  bring  ye 
some  eggs  ter-morrer.  I  wonder  ye  don't  think 
it 's  mean  ter  keep  her  up  longer  'n  ye  air 
obleeged  ter.  Ye  oughter  remember  ye  war 
called  a  merciful  critter  jes'  ter-day." 

Clarsie  rose  precipitately,  raised  the  basket, 
and  out  flew  the  "duck-legged  Dominicky," 
with  a  frantic  flutter  and  hysterical  cackling. 
But  Mrs.  Giles  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  her 
purpose  ;  her  thoughts  had  recurred  to  the  ab- 
surd episode  of  the  afternoon,  and  with  her  rel- 
ish of  the  incongruity  of  the  joke  she  opened 
upon  the  subject  at  once. 

"  Waal,  Tom,"  she  said,  "  we  '11  be  hevin' 
Clarsie  married,  afore  long,  I'm  a-thinkin'." 
The  young  man  sat  bewildered.  He,  too,  had 
entertained  views  concerning  Clarsie's  speedy 
marriage,  but  with  a  distinctly  personal  appli- 
cation ;  and  this  frank  mention  of  the  matter 
by  Mrs.  Giles  had  a  sinister  suggestion  that  per- 
haps her  ideas  might  be  antagonistic.  "  An' 


THE  "HARNT"  THAT  WALKS  CHI  LEO  WEE.  303 

who  d  'ye  think  hev  been  hyar  ter-day,  a-speak- 
in'  of  compliramte  on  Clarsie  ?  "  He  could  not 
answer,  but  he  turned  his  head  with  a  look  of 
inquiry,  and  Mrs.  Giles  continued,  "  He  is  a 
mighty  peart,  likely  boy, —  he  is." 

There  was  a  growing  anger  in  the  dismay  on 
Tom  Pratt's  face ;  he  leaned  forward  to  hear 
the  name  with  a  fiery  eagerness,  altogether  in- 
congruous with  his  usual  lack-lustre  manner. 

"  Old  Simon  Burney  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Giles, 
with  a  burst  of  laughter.  "  Old  Simon  Burney  ! 
Jes'  a-speakin'  of  complimints  on  Clarsie !  " 

The  young  fellow  drew  back  with  a  look  of 
disgust.  "  Why,  he 's  a  old  man  ;  he  ain't  no 
fit  husband  fur  Clarsie." 

"  Don't  ye  be  too  sure  ter  count  on  that.  I 
war  jes'  a-layin'  off  ter  tell  Clarsie  that  a  gal 
oughter  keep  mighty  clar  o'  widowers,  'thout 
she  wants  ter  marry  one.  Fur  I  believes,"  said 
Mrs.  Giles,  with  a  wild  flight  of  imagination, 
"  ez  them  men  hev  got  some  sort  'n  trade  with 
the  Evil  One,  an'  he  gives  'em  the  power  ter 
witch  the  gals,  somehow,  so  's  ter  git  'em  ter 
marry  ;  'kase  I  don't  think  that  any  gal  that 's 
got  good  sense  air  a-goin'  ter  be  a  man's  second 
ch'ice,  an'  the  mother  of  a  whole  pack  of  step- 
chil'ren,  'thout  she  air  under  some  sort  'n  spell. 
But  them  men  carries  the  day  with  the  gals, 
ginerally,  an'  I  'm  a-thinkin'  they  're  banded 


304          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

with  the  devil.  Ef  I  war  a  gal,  an'  a  smart, 
peart  boy  like  Simon  Burney  kem  around 
a-speakin'  of  complimints,  an'  say  in'  I  war  a 
merciful  critter,  I  'd  jes'  give  it  up,  an'  marry 
him  fur  second  ch'ice.  Thar's  one  blessin','' 
she  continued,  contemplating  the  possibility  in 
a  cold-blooded  fashion  positively  revolting  to 
Tom  Pratt :  "  he  ain't  got  no  tribe  of  cbil'ren 
fur  Clarsie  ter  look  arter  ;  nary  chick  nor  child 
hev  old  Simon  Burney  got.  He  hed  two,  but 
they  died." 

The  young  man  took  leave  presently,  in  great 
depression  of  spirit,  —  the  idea  that  the  widower 
was  banded  with  the  powers  of  evil  was  rather 
overwhelming  to  a  man  whose  dependence  was 
in  merely  mortal  attractions ;  and  after  he  had 
been  gone  a  little  while  Clarsie  ascended  the 
ladder  to  a  nook  in  the  roof,  which  she  called 
her  room. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  her  slumber  was 
fitful  and  restless,  long  intervals  of  wakefulness 
alternating  with  snatches  of  fantastic  dreams. 
At  last  she  rose  and  sat  by  the  rude  window, 
looking  out  through  the  chestnut  leaves  at  the 
great  moon,  which  had  begun  to  dip  toward  the 
dark  uncertainty  of  the  western  ridges,  and  at 
the  shimmering,  translucent,  pearly  mists  that 
filled  the  intermediate  valleys.  All  the  air  was 
dew  and  incense ;  so  subtle  and  penetrating  an 


THE  "IIARNT"  THAT  WALKS  CHI  LEO  WEE.  305 

odor  came  from  that  fir-tree  beyond  the  fence 
that  it  seemed  as  if  some  invigorating  infusion 
were  thrilling  along  her  veins  ;  there  floated  up- 
ward, too,  the  warm  fragrance  of  the  clover,  and 
every  breath  of  the  gentle  wind  brought  from 
over  the  stream  a  thousand  blended,  undistin- 
guishable  perfumes  of  the  deep  forests  beyond. 
The  moon's  idealizing  glamour  had  left  no  trace 
of  the  uncouthness  of  the  place  which  the  day- 
light revealed ;  the  little  log  house,  the  great 
overhanging  chestnut-oaks,  the  jagged  preci- 
pice before  the  door,  the  vague  outlines  of  the 
distant  ranges,  all  suffused  with  a  magic  sheen, 
might  have  seemed  a  stupendous  alto-rilievo  in 
silver  repousse.  Still,  there  came  here  and 
there  the  sweep  of  the  bat's  dusky  wings ;  even 
they  were  a  part  of  the  night's  witchery.  A 
tiny  owl  perched  for  a  moment  or  two  amid 
the  dew-tipped  chestnut-leaves,  and  gazed  with 
great  round  eyes  at  Clarsie  as  solemnly  as  she 
gazed  at  him. 

"  I  'm  thankful  enough  that  ye  bed  the  grace 
not  ter  screech  while  ye  war  hyar,"  she  said, 
after  the  bird  had  taken  his  flight.  "I  ain't 
ready  ter  die  yit,  an'  a  screech-oweZ  air  the  sure 
sign." 

She  felt  now  and  then  a  great  impatience  with 
her  wakeful  mood.  Once  she  took  herself  to 
task :  "  Jes'  a-sittin'  up  hyar  all  night,  the  same 
20 


306          IN  THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

ez  ef  I  war  a  fox,  or  that  thar  harnt  that  walks 
Chilhowee  ! " 

And  then  her  mind  rgverted  to  Tom  Pratt, 
to  old  Simon  Bnrney,  and  to  her  mother's  em- 
phatic and  oracular  declaration  that  widowers 
are  in  league  with  Satan,  and  that  the  girls  upon 
whom  they  cast  the  eye  of  supernatural  fasci- 
nation have  no  choice  in  the  matter.  "  I  wish 
I  knowed  ef  that  thar  sayin'  war  true,"  she 
murmured,  her  face  still  turned  to  the  western 
spurs,  and  the  moon  sinking  so  slowly  toward 
them. 

With  a  sudden  resolution  she  rose  to  her  feet. 
She  knew  a  way  of  telling  fortunes  which  was, 
according  to  tradition,  infallible,  and  she  deter- 
mined to  try  it,  and  ease  her  mind  as  to  her 
future.  Now  was  the  propitious  moment.  "I 
hev  always  hearn  that  it  won't  come  true  'thout 
ye  try  it  jes'  before  daybreak,  an'  a-kneelin' 
down  at  the  forks  of  the  road."  She  hesitated 
a  moment  and  listened  intently.  "They'd 
never  git  done  a-laffin'  at  me,  ef  they  fund  it 
out,"  she  thought. 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  house,  and  from 
the  dark  woods  arose  only  those  monotonous 
voices  of  the  night,  so  familiar  to  her  ears  that 
she  accounted  their  murmurous  iteration  as  si- 
lence too.  She  leaned  far  out  of  the  low  win- 
dow, caught  the  wide-spreading  branches  of  the 


THE  "HARNT"  THAT  WALKS  CH1LHOWEE.  307 

tree  beside  it,  and  swung  herself  noiselessly  to 
the  ground.  The  road  before  her  was  dark  with 
the  shadowy  foliage  and  dank  with  the  dew ; 
but  now  and  then,  at  long  intervals,  there  lay 
athwart  it  a  bright  bar  of  light,  where  the 
moonshine  fell  through  a  gap  in  the  trees.  Once, 
as  she  went  rapidly  along  her  way,  she  saw 
speeding  across  the  white  radiance,  lying  just 
before  her  feet,  the  ill-omened  shadow  of  a  rab- 
bit. She  paused,  with  a  superstitious  sinking 
of  the  heart,  and  she  heard  the  animal's  quick, 
leaping  rush  through  the  bushes  near  at  hand ; 
but  she  mustered  her  courage,  and  kept  steadily 
on.  "  'T  ain't  no  use  a-goin'  back  ter  git  shet 
o'  bad  luck,"  she  argued.  "Ef  old  Simon  Bur- 
ney  air  my  fortune,  he  '11  come  whether  or  no, 
—  ef  all  they  say  air  true." 

The  serpentine  road  curved  to  the  mountain's 
brink  before  it  forked,  and  there  was  again  that 
familiar  picture  of  precipice,  and  far-away 
ridges,  and  shining  mist,  and  sinking  moon, 
which  was  visibly  turning  from  silver  to  gold. 
The  changing  lustre  gilded  the  feathery  ferns 
that  grew  in  the  marshy  dip.  Just  at  the  angle 
of  the  divergent  paths  there  rose  into  the  air  a 
great  mass  of  indistinct  white  blossoms,  which 
she  knew  were  the  exquisite  mountain  azaleas, 
and  all  the  dark  forest  was  starred  with  the 
blooms  of  the  laurel. 


308          IN   THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  mystic  sphere 
dropping  down  the  sky,  knelt  among  the  aza- 
leas at  the  forks  of  the  road,  and  repeated  the 
time-honored  invocation :  — 

"  Ef  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  marry  a  young  man, 
whistle,  Bird,  whistle.  Ef  I  'm  a-goin'  ter 
marry  an  old  man,  low,  Cow,  low.  Ef  I  ain't 
a-goin'  ter  marry  nobody,  knock,  Death,  knock." 

There  was  a  prolonged  silence  in  the  matuti- 
nal freshness  and  perfume  of  the  woods.  She 
raised  her  head,  and  listened  attentively.  No 
chirp  of  half-awakened  bird,  no  tapping  of  wood- 
pecker, or  the  mysterious  death-watch ;  but 
from  far  along  the  dewy  aisles  of  the  forest,  the 
ungrateful  Spot,  that  Clarsie  had  fed  more 
faithfully  than  herself,  lifted  up  her  voice,  and 
set  the  echoes  vibrating.  Clarsie,  however,  had 
hardly  time  for  a  pang  of  disappointment. 
While  she  still  knelt  among  the  azaleas  her 
large,  deer-like  eyes  were  suddenly  dilated  with 
terror.  From  around  the  curve  of  the.  road 
came  the  quick  beat  of  hastening  footsteps,  the 
sobbing  sound  of  panting  breath,  and  between 
her  and  the  sinking  moon  there  passed  an  at- 
tenuated, one-armed  figure,  with  a  pallid,  sharp- 
ened face,  outlined  for  a  moment  on  its  brilliant 
disk,  and  dreadful  starting  eyes,  and  quivering 
open  mouth.  It  disappeared  in  an  instant 
among  the  shadows  of  the  laurel,  and  Clarsie, 


TEE  "HARNT"   THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.   309 

with  a  horrible  fear  clutching  at  her  heart, 
sprang  to  her  feet. 

Her  flight  was  arrested  by  other  sounds.  Be- 
fore her  reeling  senses  could  distinguish  them, 
a  party  of  horsemen  plunged  down  the  road. 
They  reined  in  suddenly  as  their  eyes  fell  upon 
her,  and  their  leader,  an  eager,  authoritative 
man,  was  asking  her  a  question.  Why  could 
she  not  understand  him  ?  With  her  nerveless 
hands  feebly  catching  at  the  shrubs  for  support, 
she  listened  vaguely  to  his  impatient,  meaning- 
less words,  and  saw  with  helpless  deprecation 
the  rising  anger  in  his  face.  But  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost.  With  a  curse  upon  the  stupid- 
ity of  the  mountaineer,  who  could  n't  speak 
when  she  was  spoken  to,  the  party  sped  on  in  a 
sweeping  gallop,  and  the  rocks  and  the  steeps 
were  hilarious  with  the  sound. 

When  the  last  faint  echo  was  hushed,  Clarsie 
tremblingly  made  her  way  out  into  the  road ; 
not  reassured,  however,  for  she  had  a  frightful 
conviction  that  there  was  now  and  then  a 
strange  stir  in  the  laurel,  and  that  she  was 
stealthily  watched.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  dense  growth  with  a  morbid  fascination,  as 
she  moved  away  ;  but  she  was  once  more  rooted 
to  the  spot  when  the  leaves  parted  and  in  the 
golden  moonlight  the  ghost  stood  before  her. 
She  could  not  nerve  herself  to  run  past  him,  and 


310          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

he  was  directly  in  her  way  homeward.  His 
face  was  white,  and  lined,  and  thin ;  that  piti- 
ful quiver  was  never  still  in  the  parted  lips  ;  he 
looked  at  her  with  faltering,  beseeching  eyes. 
Clarsie's  merciful  heart  was  stirred.  "  What 
ails  ye,  ter  come  back  hyar,  an'  foller  me  ?  " 
she  cried  out,  abruptly.  And  then  a  great  hor- 
ror fell  upon  her.  Was  not  one  to  whom  a 
ghost  should  speak  doomed  to  death,  sudden 
and  immediate? 

The  ghost  replied  in  a  broken,  shivering 
voice,  like  a  wail  of  pain,  "  I  war  a-starvin',  — 
I  war  a-starvin',' '  with  despairing  iteration. 

It  was  all  over,  Clarsie  thought.  The  ghost 
had  spoken,  and  she  was  a  doomed  creature. 
She  wondered  that  she  did  not  fall  dead  in  the 
road.  But  while  those  beseeching  eyes  were 
fastened  in  piteous  appeal  on  hers,  she  could 
not  leave  him.  "  I  never  hearn  that  'bout  ye," 
she  said,  reflectively.  "  I  knows  ye  hed  awful 
troubles  while  ye  war  alive,  but  I  never  knowed 
ez  JQ  war  starved." 

Surely  that  was  a  gleam  of  sharp  surprise  in 
the  ghost's  prominent  eyes,  succeeded  by  a  sly 
intelligence. 

"  Day  is  nigh  ter  breakin',"  Clarsie  admon- 
ished him,  as  the  lower  rim  of  the  moon  touched 
the  silver  mists  of  the  west.  "  What  air  ye 
a-wantin'  of  me  ?  " 


THE  "HARNT"    THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.  311 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Mind  travels  far 
in  such  intervals.  Clarsie's  thoughts  had  over- 
taken the  scenes  when  she  should  have  died 
that  sudden  terrible  death :  when  there  would 
be  no  one  left  to  feed  the  chickens ;  when  no 
one  would  care  if  the  pigs  cried  with  the  pangs 
of  hunger,  unless,  indeed,  it  were  time  for  them 
to  be  fattened  before  killing.  The  mare,  —  how 
often  would  she  be  taken  from  the  plow,  and 
shut  up  for  the  night  in  her  shanty  without  a 
drop  of  water,  after  her  hard  day's  work  !  Who 
would  churn,  or  spin,  or  weave?  Clarsie  could 
not  understand  how  the  machinery  of  the  uni- 
verse could  go  on  without  her.  And  Towse, 
poor  Towse  !  He  was  a  useless  cumberer  of  the 
ground,  and  it  was  hardly  to  be  supposed  that 
after  his  protector  was  gone  he  would  be  spared 
a  blow  or  a  bullet,  to  hasten  his  lagging  death. 
But  Clarsie  still  stood  in  the  road,  and  watched 
the  face  of  the  ghost,  as  he,  with  his  eager, 
starting  eyes,  scanned  her  open,  ingenuous 
countenance. 

"Ye  do  ez  ye  air  bid,  or  it  '11  be  the  worse 
for  ye,"  said  the  "  harnt,"  in  the  same  quiver- 
ing, shrill  tone.  "  Thar  's  hunger  in  the  nex' 
worl'  ez  well  ez  in  this,  an'  ye  bring  me  some 
vittles  hyar  this  time  ter-morrer,  an1  don't  ye 
tell  nobody  ye  hev  seen  me,  nuther,  or  it  '11  be 
the  worse  for  ye." 


312          IN  THE  TENNESSEE   MOUNTAINS. 

There  was  a  threat  in  his  eyes  as  he  disap- 
peared in  the  laurel,  and  left  the  girl  standing 
in  the  last  rays  of  moonlight. 

A  curious  doubt  was  stirring  in  Clarsie's  mind 
when  she  reached  home,  in  the  early  dawn,  and 
heard  her  father  talking  about  the  sheriff  and 
his  posse,  who  had  stopped  at  the  house  in  the 
night,  and  roused  its  inmates,  to  know  if  they 
had  seen  a  man  pass  that  way. 

"  Clarsie  never  hearn  none  o'  the  noise,  I  '11 
be  bound,  'kase  she  always  sleeps  like  a  log," 
said  Mrs.  Giles,  as  her  daughter  came  in  with 
the  pail,  after  milking  the  cow.  "  Tell  her 
'bout  'n  it." 

"  They  kem  a-bustin'  along  hyar  a  while  afore 
day-break,  a-runnin'  arter  the  man,"  drawled 
Mr.  Giles,  dramatically.  "  An'  they  knocked 
me  up,  ter  know  ef  ennybody  hed  passed.  An' 
one  o'  them  men  —  I  never  seen  none  of  'em 
afore  ;  they  's  all  valley  folks,  I  'm  a-thinkin'  — 
an'  one  of  'em  bruk  his  saddle-girt'  a  good  piece 
down  the  road,  an'  he  kem  back  ter  borrer 
mine ;  an'  ez  we  war  a-fixin'  of  it,  he  tole  me 
what  they  war  all  arter.  He  said  that  word 
war  tuk  ter  the  sheriff  down  yander  in  the  val- 
ley—  'pears  ter  me  them  town-folks  don't  think 
nobody  in  the  mountings  hev  got  good  sense  — 
word  war  tuk  ter  the  sheriff  'bout  this  one-armed 
harnt  that  walks  Chilhowee  ;  an'  he  sot  it  down 


THE  "HARNT"   THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.    313 

that  Reuben  Crabb  war  n't  dead  at  all,  an'  Joel 
jes'  purtended  ter  hev  buried  him,  an'  it  air 
Reuben  hisself  that  walks  Chilhowee.  An'  thar 
air  two  hunderd  dollars  blood-money  reward 
fur  ennybody  ez  kin  ketch  him.  These  hyar 
valley  folks  air  powerful  cur'ous  critters,  — two 
hunderd  dollars  blood-money  reward  fur  that 
thar  harnt  that  walks  Chilhowee !  I  jes'  sot 
myself  ter  laffin'  when  that  thar  cuss  tole  it  so 
solemn.  I  jes'  'lowed  ter  him  ez  he  couldn't 
shoot  a  harnt  nor  hang  a  harnt,  an'  Reuben 
Crabb  hed  about  got  done  with  his  persecutions 
in  this  worl'.  An'  he  said  that  by  the  time 
they  hed  scoured  this  mounting,  like  they  hed 
laid  off  ter  do,  they  would  find  that  that  thar 
puny  little  harnt  warnuthin'  but  a  mortal  man, 
an'  could  be  kep'  in  a  jail  ez  handy  ez  enny 
other  flesh  an'  blood.  He  said  the  sheriff  'lowed 
ez  the  reason  Reuben  hed  jes'  taken  ter  walk 
Chilhowee  sence  Joel  died  is  'kase  thar  air  no- 
body ter  feed  him,  like  Joel  done,  mebbe,  in  the 
nights ;  an'  Reuben  always  war  a  pore,  one- 
armed,  weakly  critter,  what  can't  even  kerry  a 
gun,  an'  he  air  driv  by  hunger  out'n  the  hole  whar 
he  stays,  ter  prowl  round  the  cornfields  an'  hen- 
coops ter  steal  suthin',  —  an'  that 's  how  he  kem 
ter  be  seen  frequent.  The  sheriff  'lowed  that 
Reuben  can't  find  enough  roots  an'  yerbs  ter 
keep  him  up ;  but  law !  —  a  harnt  eatin'  I  It 


314          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

jes'  sot  me  off  ter  laffin'.  Reuben  Crabb  hev 
been  too  busy  in  torment  fur  the  las'  four  year 
ter  be  a-studyin'  'bout  eatin' ;  an'  it  air  his 
harnt  that  walks  Chilhowee." 

The  next  morning,  before  the  moon  sank, 
Clarsie,  with  a  tin  pail  in  her  hand,  went  to 
meet  the  ghost  at  the  appointed  place.  She 
understood  now  why  the  terrible  doom  that 
falls  upon  those  to  whom  a  spirit  may  chance 
to  speak  had  not  descended  upon  her,  and  that 
fear  was  gone  ;  but  the  secrecy  of  her  errand 
weighed  heavily.  She  had  been  scrupulously 
careful  to  put  into  the  pail  only  such  things  as 
had  fallen  to  her  share  at  the  table,  and  which 
she  had  saved  from  the  meals  of  yesterday.  "  A 
gal  that  goes  a-robbin'  fur  a  hongry  harnt,"  was 
her  moral,  reflection,  "  oughter  be  thro  wed  bo- 
daciously  off'n  the  bluff." 

She  found  no  one  at  the  forks  of  the  road. 
In  the  marshy  dip  were  only  the  myriads  of 
mountain  azaleas,  only  the  masses  of  feathery 
ferns,  only  the  constellated  glories  of  the  laurel 
blooms.  A  sea  of  shining  white  mist  was  in 
the  valley,  with  glinting  golden  rays  striking 
athwart  it  from  the  great  cresset  of  the  sinking 
moon  ;  here  and  there  the  long,  dark,  horizontal 
line  of  a  distant  mountain's  summit  rose  above 
the  vaporous  shimmer,  like  a  dreary,  sombre 
island  in  the  midst  of  enchanted  waters.  Her 


THE  "HARNT"  THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.  315 

large,  dreamy  eyes,  so  wild  and  yet  so  gentle, 
gazed  out  through  the  laurel  leaves  upon  the 
floating  gilded  flakes  of  light,  as  in  the  deep 
coverts  of  the  mountain,  where  the  fulvous-tinted 
deer  were  lying,  other  eyes,  as  wild  and  as 
gentle,  dreamily  watched  the  vanishing  moon. 
Overhead,  the  filmy,  lace-like  clouds,  fretting 
the  blue  heavens,  were  tinged  with  a  faint  rose. 
Through  the  trees  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
red  sky  of  dawn,  and  the  glister  of  a  great 
lucent,  tremulous  star.  From  the  ground,  misty 
blue  exhalations  were  rising,  alternating  with 
the  long  lines  of  golden  light  yet  drifting  through 
the  woods.  It  was  all  very  still,  very  peaceful, 
almost  holy.  One  could  hardly  believe  that 
these  consecrated  solitudes  had  once  reverber- 
ated with  the  echoes  of  man's  death-dealing  in- 
genuity, and  that  Reuben  Crabb  had  fallen,  shot 
through  and  through,  amid  that  wealth  of  flow- 
ers at  the  forks  of  the  road.  She  heard  suddenly 
the  far-away  baying  of  a  hound.  Her  great 
eyes  dilated,  and  she  lifted  her  head  to  listen. 
Only  the  solemn  silence  of  the  woods,  the  slow 
sinking  of  the  noiseless  moon,  the  voiceless 
splendor  of  that  eloquent  day-star. 

Morning  was  close  at  hand,  and  she  was  be- 
ginning to  wonder  that  the  ghost  did  not  ap- 
pear, when  the  leaves  fell  into  abrupt  commo- 
tion, and  he  was  standing  in  the  road,  beside 


316          IN  THE  TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

her.  He  did  not  speak,  but  watched  her  with 
an  eager,  questioning  intentness,  as  she  placed 
the  contents  of  the  pail  upon  the  moss  at  the 
roadside.  "I  'm  a-comin'  agin  ter-morrer,"  she 
said,  gently.  He  made  no  reply,  quickly  gath- 
ered the  food  from  the  ground,  and  disappeared 
in  the  deep  shades  of  the  woods. 

She  had  not  expected  thanks,  for  she  was 
accustomed  only  to  the  gratitude  of  dumb 
beasts ;  but  she  was  vaguely  conscious  of  some- 
thing wanting,  as  she  stood  motionless  for  a 
moment,  and  watched  the  burnished  rim  of  the 
moon  slip  down  behind  the  western  mountains. 
Then  she  slowly  walked  along  her  misty  way 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  coming  dawn.  There 
was  a  footstep  in  the  road  behind  her ;  she 
thought  it  was  the  ghost  once  more.  She  turned, 
and  met  Simon  Burney,  face  to  face.  His  rod 
was  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  string  of  fish  was  in 
his  hand. 

"  Ye  air  a-doin'  wrongful,  Clarsie,"  he  said, 
sternly.  "  It  air  agin  the  law  fur  folks  ter  feed 
an'  shelter  them  ez  is  a-runnin'  from  jestice. 
An'  ye  '11  git  yerself  inter  trouble.  Other  folks 
will  find  ye  out,  besides  me,  an'  then  the  sher- 
iff '11  be  up  hyar  arter  ye." 

The  tears  rose  to  Clarsie's  eyes.  This  pros- 
pect was  infinitely  more  terrifying  than  the  aw- 
ful doom  which  follows  the  horror  of  a  ghost's 
speech. 


THE  "HARNT"   THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.  317 

"  I  can't  holp  it,"  she  said,  however,  dog- 
gedly swinging  the  pail  back  and  forth.  "  I 
can't  gin  my  consent  ter  starvin'  of  folks,  even 
ef  they  air  a-hidin'  an'  a-runnin'  from  jestice." 

"  They  mought  put  ye  in  jail,  too,  —  I 
dunno,"  suggested  Simon  Burney. 

"  I  can't  holp  that,  nuther,"  said  Clarsie,  the 
sobs  rising,  and  the  tears  falling  fast.  "Ef 
they  comes  an'  gits  me,  and  puts  me  in  the 
pen'tiary  away  down  yander,  somewhars  in  the 
valley,  like  they  done  Jane  Simpkins,  fur  a-cut- 
tin'  of  her  step-mother's  throat  with  a  butcher- 
knife,  while  she  war  asleep,  —  though  some  said 
Jane  war  crazy,  —  I  can't  gin  my  consent  ter 
starvin'  of  folks." 

A  recollection  came  over  Simon  Burney  of 
the  simile  of  "hendering  the  sun  from  shin- 
ing." 

"  She  hev  done  sot  it  down  in  her  mind,"  he 
thought,  as  he  walked  on  beside  her  and  looked 
at  her  resolute  face.  Still  he  did  not  relinquish 
his  effort. 

"  Doin'  wrong,  Clarsie,  ter  aid  folks  what  air 
a-doin'  wrong,  an'  mebbe  hev  done  wrong,  air 
powerful  hurtful  ter  everybody,  an'  henders  the 
law  an'  jestice." 

"  I  can't  holp  it,"  said  Clarsie. 

"  It  'pears  toler'ble  comical  ter  me,"  said 
Simon  Burney,  with  a  sudden  perception  of  a 


318         IN  THE    TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

curious  fact  which  has  proved  a  marvel  to  wiser 
men,  "  that  no  matter  how  good  a  woman  is, 
she  ain't  got  no  respect  fur  the  laws  of  the 
country,  an'  don't  sot  no  store  by  jestice."  Af- 
ter a  momentary  silence  he  appealed  to  her 
on  another  basis.  "  Somebody  will  ketch  him 
arter  a  while,  ez  sure  ez  ye  air  born.  The 
sheriff  's  a-sarchin'  now,  an'  by  the  time  that 
word  gits  around,  all  the  mounting  boys  '11  turn 
out,  'kase  thar  air  two  hunderd  dollars  blood- 
money  fur  him.  An'  then  he  '11  think,  when 
they  ketches  him,  —  an'  everybody  '11  say  so, 
too,  —  ez  ye  war  constant  in  feedin'  him  jes' 
ter  'tice  him  ter  comin'  ter  one  place,  so  ez  ye 
could  tell  somebody  whar  ter  go  ter  ketch  him, 
an'  make  them  gin  ye  haffen  the  blood-money, 
rnebbe.  That 's  what  the  mounting  will  say, 
mos'  likely." 

"  I  can't  holp  it,"  said  Clarsie,  once  more. 

He  left  her  walking  on  toward  the  rising  sun, 
and  retraced  his  way  to  the  forks  of  the  road. 
The  jubilant  morning  was  filled  with  the  song 
of  birds ;  the  sunlight  flashed  on  the  dew ;  all 
the  delicate  enameled  bells  of  the  pink  and 
white  azaleas  were  swinging  tremulously  in  the 
wind  ;  the  aroma  of  ferns  and  mint  rose  on  the 
delicious  fresh  air.  Presently  he  checked  his 
pace,  creeping  stealthily  on  the  moss  and  grass 
beside  the  road  rather  than  in  the  beaten  path. 


THE   "HAKNT"    THAT  WALKS   CHILHOWEE.    319 

He  pulled  aside  the  leaves  of  the  laurel  with  no 
more  stir  than  the  wind  might  have  made,  and 
stole  cautiously  through  its  dense  growth,  till 
he  came  suddenly  upon  the  puny  little  ghost, 
lying  in  the  sun  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  The 
frightened  creature  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a 
wild  cry  of  terror,  but  before  he  could  move  a 
step  he  was  caught  and  held  fast  in  the  strong 
grip  of  the  stalwart  mountaineer  beside  him. 
"  I  hev  kem  hyar  ter  tell  ye  a  word,  Reuben 
Crabb,"  said  Simon  Burney.  "  I  hev  kem  hyar 
ter  tell  ye  that  the  whole  mounting  air  a-goin' 
ter  turn  out  ter  sarch  fur  ye;  the  sheriff  air 
a-ridin'  now,  an'  ef  ye  don't  come  along  with 
me  they  '11  hev  ye  afore  night,  'kase  thar  air 
two  hunderd  dollars  reward  fur  ye." 

What  a  piteous  wail  went  up  to  the  smiling 
blue  sky,  seen  through  the  dappling  leaves 
above  them  !  What  a  horror,  and  despair,  and 
prescient  agony  were  in  the  hunted  creature's 
face !  The  ghost  struggled  no  longer ;  he 
slipped  from  his  feet  down  upon  the  roots  of 
the  tree,  and  turned  that  woful  face,  with  its 
starting  eyes  and  drawn  muscles  and  quivering 
parted  lips,  up  toward  the  unseeing  sky. 

"  God  A'mighty,  man  !  "  exclaimed  Simon 
Burney,  moved  to  pity.  "Why  n't  ye  quit 
this  hyar  way  of  livin'  in  the  woods  like  ye 
war  a  wolf  ?  Why  n't  ye  come  back  an'  stand 


320          JN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

yer  trial  ?  From  all  I  've  hearn  tell,  it  'pears 
ter  me  ez  the  jury  air  obleeged  ter  let  ye  off, 
an'  I  '11  take  keer  of  ye  agin  them  Grirns." 

"  I  hain't  got  no  place  ter  live  in,"  cried  out 
the  ghost,  with  a  keen  despair. 

Simon  Burney  hesitated.  Reuben  Crabb 
was  possibly  a  murderer,  —  at  the  best  could 
but  be  a  burden.  The  burden,  however,  had 
fallen  in  his  way,  and  he  lifted  it. 

"  I  tell  ye  now,  Reuben  Crabb,"  he  said,  "  I 
ain't  a-goin'  ter  holp  no  man  ter  break  the  law 
an'  hender  jestice ;  but  ef  ye  will  go  an'  stand 
yer  trial,  I  '11  take  keer  of  ye  agin  them  Grims 
ez  long  ez  I  kin  fire  a  rifle.  An'  arter  the  jury 
hev  done  let  ye  off,  ye  air  welcome  ter  live  along 
o'  me  at  my  house  till  ye  die.  Ye  air  no-'count 
ter  work,  I  know,  but  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  grudge 
ye  fur  a  livin'  at  my  house." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  the  reward  set 
upon  the  head  of  the  harnt  that  walked  Chil- 
howee  was  never  claimed. 

With  his  powerful  ally,  the  forlorn  little 
spectre  went  to  stand  his  trial,  and  the  jury 
acquitted  him  without  leaving  the  box.  Then 
he  came  back  to  the  mountains  to  live  with 
Simon  Burney.  The  cruel  gibes  of  his  burly 
mockers  that  had  beset  his  feeble  life  from  his 
childhood  up,  the  deprivation  and  loneliness 
and  despair  and  fear  that  had  filled  those  days 


THE  "HARNT"   THAT  WALKS  CHILHOWEE.   321 

when  he  walked  Chilhowee,  had  not  improved 
the  harnt's  temper.  He  was  a  helpless  crea- 
ture, not  able  to  carry  a  gun  or  hold  a  plow, 
and  the  years  that  he  spent  smoking  his  cob- 
pipe  in  Simon  Burney's  door  were  idle  years 
and  unhappy.  But  Mrs.  Giles  said  she  thought 
he  was  "  a  mighty  lucky  little  critter :  fust,  he 
hed  Joel  ter  take  keer  of  him  an'  feed  him,  when 
he  tuk  ter  the  woods  ter  pertend  he  war  a 
harnt ;  an'  they  do  say  now  that  Clarsie  Pratt, 
afore  she  war  married,  used  ter  kerry  him  vit- 
tles,  too ;  an'  then  old  Simon  Burney  tuk  him 
up  an'  fed  him  ez  plenty  ez  ef  he  war  a  good 
workin'  hand,  an'  gin  him  clothes  an'  house- 
room,  an'  put  up  with  his  jawin'  jes'  like  he 
never  hearn  a  word  of  it.  But  law  !  some  folks 
dun  no  when  they  air  well  off." 

There  was  only  a  sluggish  current  of  peasant 
blood  in  Simon  Burney's  veins,  but  a  prince 
could  not  have  dispensed  hospitality  with  a 
more  royal  hand.  Ungrudgingly  he  gave  of 
his  best ;  valiantly  he  defended  his  thankless 
guest  at  the  risk  of  his  life ;  with  a  moral  gal- 
lantry he  struggled  with  his  sloth,  and  worked 
early  and  late,  that  there  might  be  enough  to 
divide.  There  was  no  possibility  of  a  recom- 
pense for  him,  not  even  in  the  encomiums  of 
discriminating  friends,  nor  the  satisfaction  of 
tutored  feelings  and  a  practiced  spiritual  dis- 
21 


322          IN  THE   TENNESSEE  MOUNTAINS. 

cernment ;  for  he  was  an  uncouth  creature,  and 
densely  ignorant. 

The  grace  of  culture  is,  in  its  way,  a  fine 
thing,  but  the  best  that  art  can  do  —  the  polish 
of  a  gentleman  —  is  hardly  equal  to  the  best 
that  Nature  can  do  in  her  higher  moods. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


JUN1277 

JUN  2  0  REC'D 


50m-6,'67(H2523s8)2373 


3  2106  00207  7946 


